


you’re my head, you’re my heart

by sleeponrooftops



Series: shake it out [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crack, Explicit Language, FOURTH WALL WHAT FOURTH WALL, M/M, Sexual Content, Social Media, Substance Abuse, Violence, pay attention to that angst tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: It’s not often that Peter ends up on the ceiling anymore.  There are rules, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. Same rules apply as before. See previous fic for notes.
> 
> ii. Origin story time! I did some quick back of the napkin math Mark Watney style, and realized that I’d aged Peter wrong by one year. Wade and Peter have been friends for 3 years before they start dating, and I didn’t want Peter in college for a huge portion of that, so, nothing crazy, but I’m aging Peter up by one year. I’ve already fixed it in the older fics. In this timeline, then, Peter was 20 and on winter break during his senior year of college (he also graduated a year early) when he first meets Wade, he moves out of May’s house sometime during his college years, but maybe right before this, and then he and Wade start dating when he’s 23. In this universe, Wade is six years older than him, so 26 when they meet and 29 when they start dating, so currently, 35. I was literally talking to myself in the shower figuring this out.

 

It’s not often that Peter ends up on the ceiling anymore.

 

Really, though, he feels like he should have expected it, what with it being Halloween and all.  They’ve started their marathon early in the day, around eleven.  Peter’s so used to being up at eight every morning for work, and so he’d rolled over just past eight and woken Wade with his mouth on his dick.  After a rough night mentally the night before, it took him longer to wake and even longer to appreciate what was happening, but then he was pulling Peter up to kiss him before he tucked all of his sharp edges away into Peter and learned how to be okay again.  After that, and breakfast, somehow nearly two and a half hours had passed, and then it was a half hour of arguing over where to begin until, finally, they settled on starting off their morning right with a Hannibal bonanza.

 

It’s still early, around four, and they’ve finally switched over to the list that always makes Peter crawl, which includes _The Conjuring_ , _The Strangers_ , and fucking _Mama_.

 

Wade waits until Peter’s good and creeped out from people lurking in the corners of _The Strangers_ , makes them break for snacks to lull him into a sense of calm, and then _screams_ when they start playing the clap game in _The Conjuring_ , and the hands appear onscreen.

 

Peter is gone in two seconds _flat_ , and Wade howls with laughter.

 

“Spidey,” he gasps, clutching his stomach and rolling onto his side as he spots Peter clinging to one of the rafters, looking around with wide eyes.

 

“You _asshole_ ,” Peter groans, shifting around so that he can lie back on the rafter, trying to catch his breath.

 

“I love my asshole!” Wade yells, still laughing, “Listen, webhead, you gotsta prepare for these things, okay, we can’t all be runnin’ amok, pretend there ain’t ghosts and clowns and heebie jeebies all over the place, _okay_ , there might be _demons_ , spidey, _demons_.”

 

“You’re a demon,” Peter accuses.

 

“OR,” Wade says loudly, “Try this on for size: _I’m_ a demon.  Man, can you even imagine?  Right, walkin’ ‘round with my spine bent all the wrong ways, like that freakie deakie duckaroo, Rosemary, or whatever, and I’m still on this topic about callin’ out demon’s names, ya hear?  Not every demon that comes walkin’ up is gone be Lucifer, but they’re all still spoutin’ that anyway, trying to pretend that they the devil.  Well, spidey, I ain’t the devil, and God knows there’s worse than me.  God knows it, spidey.  Capital G with a God, that little old Satan Claus sittin’ on up in his clouds, fuckin’ around with his angels.  _Wait_.  Wait.  Fun topic.  Ya think angels are incestuous?  I think so, how else were they supposed to breed the entire human race?  Wait.  _Wait_.  Was that God?”

 

“Big bang,” Peter supplies.

 

“Baggage claims, right,” Wade says, rolling onto his back again, “We should go to Disneyland.  Man, we had one whole day for our honeymoon, let’s pack this shit up and run right off into the sunset.  Can you _do_ that?  I bet you aliens can.  _Martians_ , specifically.  I done read that book, way scarier than the movie, but Matt Damon’s always muckin’ shit up.  Nope!  Petey, don’t do it!”

 

“I’ll dismantle you,” Peter warns.

 

“ _Petey_!” Wade shrieks, “They’s a package deal.  Batman and Damon, they come together.  I’m gonna gone girl myself, a’ight?  You cool with that?  Nah, knew it, can’t do it.  Mama done said gone girlin’s for suckers, said she’da done it ‘cept my pops was always runnin’ amok, tellin’ her which way the wind was blowin’.  This one time, right, daddy tells me gone play this game, okay, and it’s not the clap game, no siree, that’s for people who conjure shit, but instead we was gonna play this game where it’s our little secret, ya hear, ain’t tellin’ mama _nothin’_.  I told mama anyway cos I was just a pipsqueak, spidey, can’t keep up with all the rules.  Rules are borin’, _anyway_ , rules are for chicken shits and calculus and coriander.  So mama done said, _Wilson_.  You know why?”

 

“Cos you’re Deadpool?” Peter says, one of his legs dropping off of the rafter to swing as he watches Wade with a fond, albeit sad, smile.

 

“No, not yet, Petey pie, keep up.  Holy maloly, you’re never paying attention, it’s like I’m up here in Hell all by my lonesome, capital H with an L, but you said you’d come to hell with me, so I guess we’ve got a fair shake on that.  Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?  Spongebob _Square_ pants!  _I_ want square pants.  But I’m a triangle, Petey pie, it ain’t fair!  So mama done said, _Wilson_ , you get right back into that room and let your daddy finish you up, a’ight, you ain’t a man yet till you been patted by your pops.  Oh my _children_ , webhead, you seen that movie?  With Captain Marvel?”

 

“Carol was in a movie?  Start thinking about dinner.”

 

“Who the fuck’s Carol?” Wade says, blinking crazily, “Petey pie, honest to Beelzebub, _pay attention_.”

 

“You call me Petey pie one more time,” Peter says even as he pushes upright, pointing at him.

 

“You should make an Instagram account,” Wade says, “You done do that, and I’ll Snapchat all our adventures, show the po-pos that I be unalivin’, not _killin_ ’.  Gosh, they all think I’m so mean or something.  I got square pants, spidey, I can’t be mean!  I’ma make you a sweater outta my tears, that’s what I’ma do.  _Room_ , Parker poke, that’s the one I been jammin’ to.  That book was bad, bad, bad, mama pajama bad.  Yo!  Sparkles!  I once seen these spidey pajamas, think I can buy them?  I want tacos,” he ends in a whine.

 

“We already did three freaking taco parties this month,” Peter says, “Pick a different country.”

 

“Burritos,” Wade says, “I betcha that’s a different part of Mexico.”

 

“Not county, country,” Peter says before he reaches forward, spreading his fingers and holding onto the rafter tight before he starts to lift up into a handstand, keeping his legs bent in since the ceiling is so close.

 

“Calico cats, I heard ya the first time.  Flo!  Are you a Calico?”  They both fall silent, and there’s a short wait before Florence meows, her voice carrying distantly from somewhere in the apartment.  “Aw, dang, she said she wasn’t,” Wade says, shrugging, “Yo, Parker poke, wanna wrestle?”

 

“With you?” Peter says, shifting his weight onto his left hand and carefully inching off his right, “Not a chance.  You play dirty, and I don’t want to clean up after that.”

 

“I do play dirty,” Wade agrees, “This one time, I was goin’ toe to toe with Carnage, right, toe to frickin’ toe, spidey, and I done lost six of mine.”

 

“How’d you walk home?” Peter asks.

 

“Yo, listen up, now this is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down, and I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.”

 

“Switch tracks,” Peter says, successfully lifting his right hand.

 

“X gone give it to ya, fuck wait for you to get it on your own, x gone deliver to ya, knock, knock, open up the door, it’s real with the nonstop, pop, pop, and stainless steel, go hard, getting’ busy with it, but I got such a good heart that I’ll make a motherfucker wonder if he did it!  Toes are only necessary for _mammals_ , spidey.”

 

“And you’re what?  A reptile?  Been there, done that,” Peter says, and looks over at him.

 

He’s gone.

 

“Aw, shit,” Peter says, throwing himself off balance.  He twists in the air, shoots a web at another rafter, and lands on the ground in a crouch, looking around.  “Wade?”

 

There’s a knock on the door, and Peter has half a mind not to answer it because trust Wade to find a way outside and back inside that fast, but then Sadie’s voice floats through, “Peter?  It’s Sadie!”

 

Peter gives a last glance around the apartment, sees nothing out of order, though the hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and he knows, at any second, he’s likely to end up with a heart attack.  He makes it all the way to the door, opens it, and even manages to say, “Hey, what’s up?”

 

“Hey!” Sadie says brightly, “Pru and I were putting together some candy for the kids later, but then we saw the time, and we were wondering if you and Wade might want to come over for dinner, maybe come out with us later to sit outside the building.”

 

“Costumes!” Wade yells, and Peter hits the floor, arms coming up over his head.

 

Even Sadie jumps, letting out a surprised noise, and Wade cackles, leaning against the doorway.  “Oh, that’s so fun!” Sadie says, “Did you make that?  It looks amazing!”

 

“You little—” Peter says as he gets up and stares at Wade in shock.

 

“No bad words, Petey pie, there’s a lady at the door,” Wade says, and kicks him in the shin.

 

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to keep them trained on his face because the rest of Wade’s body is covered in red and blue spandex.

 

“Took a fuckton of time to make it, yeah,” Wade says, grinning at Sadie, “Chicken shit over here is dressing up as that asshole, Deadpool.”

 

“Oh ho,” Peter says loudly, already turning away from the door, “That ass in leather!”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Wade groans, turning toward him, “That ain’t fair, spidey.”

 

“We’re making golubtsis right now, but we were thinking about pesto chicken and veggies for later,” Sadie says.

 

“The Russians are attacking!” Wade exclaims, turning back toward Sadie, “Are you a ballerina?”

 

Sadie smiles and continues, “Plus, Pru found this _amazing_ cheese and garlic crack bread recipe that she wants to try.”

 

“You puttin’ crack in yo bread sockets?” Wade says, “Wait, I’m hungry, why are we talkin’ about Russian bombs?”

 

“We were wondering if you guys wanted to come over for dinner,” Sadie says, “A little Halloween treat.”

 

“Yo spidey!” Wade calls over his shoulder before fitting Sadie with his best smile, “Sounds lovely, neighbor labor.  What time?”

 

Sadie checks her watch, shrugs, and says, “Seven, maybe?”

 

“Listen, I ain’t a baker, _but_ , spidey done introduced me to this place in space, right, _Pinterest_ , holy jiminy Christmas.”

 

“It’s the best,” Sadie says, “I get all of my crafts from there.”

 

“Whatchu craftin’?  You a witch?”

 

“Sometimes,” Sadie says, and Wade gapes at her.

 

“Man, you as cool as Pru.  _Hey_.  I’m a poet, and I don’t even _know it_!  So apple pie bites, right.  The bomb dot com.”

 

“The more food, the merrier,” Sadie says, “I’ll tell Pru— _woah_.”

 

Wade turns at her voice, and his throat goes dry when he sees Peter in fucking red and black _leather_.  “This is all of my fantasies come true,” Wade says, his voice cracking at the end.  His hand flaps behind him as he tries to find the door, Sadie laughs, and he finally grabs onto it.  “Toodle do, neighbor!” Wade says and slams the door.  “You,” he says, pointing at Peter as he stalks forward.

 

“What, something wrong?” Peter asks, putting his back to Wade and heading for the loft.

 

“Oh, _Peter_ ,” Wade moans, and it sounds so undeniably like he just came in his pants that Peter glances at him over his shoulder.  He’s just standing there, though, arms heavy by his sides, and jaw dropped open, eyes trained on Peter’s ass.

 

“Wade?” Peter says before he shoots a web up toward the ceiling, skipping the ladder and dropping onto the loft.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you in the suit,” Wade says, and runs after him.

 

Peter laughs when Wade reaches him, wrapping one arm around him and tossing them onto the bed.  They land in a pile of limbs, Wade groaning loudly as their bodies slide together, spandex on leather in a way Wade never thought would be possible.  He’d known he could fit into Peter’s suit, has thrown the pants on before to piss him off, but feeling all the hard lines of Peter’s muscled body tucked perfectly into the Deadpool suit is making his head spin.

 

Wade buries his face in Peter’s neck, breathing him in, before he grumbles, “On your knees, spidey.”

 

“Don’t Batman voice at me,” Peter says before he throws Wade over onto his back.  Wade tries to get up, but Peter knocks him back over, pinning him as he settles in Wade’s lap.

 

“You don’t even know who Batman is,” Wade says, looking up at him.

 

“You keep making references, someday I’m gonna catch up,” Peter threatens.

 

“God _damn_ ,” Wade says, and unseats him.  There’s a half second of struggle, Peter grinning as he tries to manhandle Wade, who just about gives up and lets him, but _god_ , he wants him, so he knocks Peter’s hands out from under him, _foul play_ , and pulls down the suit’s pants, his spandex cock pressing against Peter’s ass when he finds he’s got nothing on underneath.  “Spidey, I ain’t even goin’ commando most days,” he says, leaning down to shuck up the shirt and mouth up Peter’s spine.

 

Peter pushes up onto his forearms, dragging a pillow underneath him, and shifts his knees apart.  “Yours for the taking,” he says, looking at Wade over his shoulder.

 

“Mother _hubbard_ ,” Wade says, and scrambles to find lube.

 

He stretches him quick, and really, he’d intended to fuck him in the suit, but he wants to _bite_ him, and he’s two fingers deep when he says, “ _Peter_.”

 

“Yeah, agreed,” Peter says, and then pushes upright, gasping as Wade’s fingers sink deeper when his shoulders hit Wade’s chest.  He pauses there, groans when Wade adds a third finger, and then leans away from him, fighting with the top half of the suit until he can get it off.  He’s all taught lines and sweat underneath, and Wade reaches a hand around to curl tightly around his cock, kissing along the line of Peter’s shoulders until he can rub his nose against the short hairs at the back of his head.  “Wade,” Peter says softly, his voice low and hard-edged and _wanting_.

 

Wade’s fingers come out of his ass, the hand on his cock coming around to squeeze the back of Peter’s neck before he pushes him back toward the bed, and Peter makes this obscene, filthy noise when he feels the head of Wade’s cock pressing against him.

 

“Baby boy, you about to get fucked by Spiderman.”

 

Peter tries valiantly to respond, and just dissolves into laughter, which pulls a grin to Wade’s mouth before he leans forward, pressing inside of him as he kisses his shoulder.

 

This morning had been lazy and slow, much of it foreplay, soft mouths and softer touches, but there’s fire in Wade’s veins now, and he only gives Peter four painfully slow thrusts of his hips before he’s licking over a spot on his spine and burying himself deep.  “Imagine ghost sex, spidey,” he says against his back, and Peter huffs a laugh, which pitches into a whine when Wade pulls out, fingers wrapping tight around his hips.  “They’d just slide right through,” he says, and snaps back in toward him.

 

Peter shouts, fingers fisting in the sheets as he presses back toward him, and then it’s nothing short of brutal.  Wade bites him hard enough to draw blood, mutters something about vampires, and grins at the wicked bruise that’s going to blossom.  Wade makes the mistake of leaning close to him once, and Peter balances on one arm as he reaches back with the other, holding onto him, nails digging into his bicep so that he’s hissing, half pain half pleasure, and Peter asks him if he can speak Parseltongue.

 

Peter feels it in the way Wade’s rhythm staggers a little off kilter, and he fists a hand over his dick, biting his lip as he tries to stave off his orgasm, and then Wade groans, low and guttural, and Peter pushes off of the bed, dropping into his lap.  Wade’s groan turns into a shout, a litany of profanity as he wraps an arm around Peter and holds him there, and Peter lets go, trips over into bliss with him.

 

When they come down, Peter is breathing _hard_ , though he smiles when Wade kisses his jaw, exhale fanning out.  “I love you,” he mumbles.

 

Peter twists out of his hold, swallows down a noise when they part, and turns, kissing him with every ounce _them_ , this moment that is theirs, that he can dredge up.  “I love you,” he says in between breaths.

 

“In my next life,” Wade says when Peter finally pulls away and flops backward, legs parting around Wade, “I’m finding you sooner.”

 

“Yeah?  What’re you gonna do, de-age and hang out in high school with me?”

 

Wade twists out of the top half of the Spiderman suit before he crashes down next to Peter, looping an arm around his front and dropping his head onto his shoulder, nosing at his jaw before he lays a soft, barely there kiss against his skin.  “Bet you were a right fuckin’ mess in high school.  That when you dated Gwen?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, and his voice is happy where it’s usually sad, “Did the whole lizard nonsense, too.  You’re not that much old than me, wouldn’t take too much de-aging.”

 

“Spidey, hate to inform you, but there are some universes this creepy ass turns into a straight up pedophile, wants to lick you up, yum yum like a lollipop, when you still in your tweens.  It’s the worst pile o’ dung I ever been forced into.”

 

“Ugh, _gross_ ,” Peter says, flicking him, “Why would you even?”

 

“That _ass_ , spidey,” Wade groans, turning his face into his shoulder, “I ain’t no cradle robber, though, nut uh.  _Hey_!  You’re gonna be thirty soon, my wittle itsy bitsy spider!”

 

“No,” Peter drags the word out, one hand coming up to curl around the back of Wade’s head, “Don’t remind me.”

 

“Pfft, thirties are where it’s _at_ , home skillet,” Wade says, “I been jammin’ that whole tune for three bunches of coconuts.  Four?  Petes, how old am I?”

 

“Will you quit it with the nicknames?” Peter whines, flicking his head, “You’re thirty-five.  Gettin’ kind of old, grandpa.”

 

“ _Petey_!” Wade actually _screams_ before he grabs him and bodily throws him from the bed.  Peter crashes into the ground, rolls over, and webs Wade’s mouth before he can continue.

 

“Oh my god,” Peter says, getting up, “How have I never thought of that before?”  Wade glares at him, starts to lunge across the bed, and then Peter says, “Not on your life, Wilson.  I can take you.”

 

Wade tries to speak, sighs loudly, and starts picking the web off his mouth while Peter goes to find something to change into.

 

The rest of their night passes easily.  Wade quite nearly burns down their apartment when he sets the oven _on fire_ , and then he’s leaping around the kitchen with a tray _of fire_ , and Peter didn’t even know they had an extinguisher, let alone where it is.  They set out the first one, Wade burns the second one, his shirt has got holes in it when he turns to Peter, and there’s yet another tray of fire on the counter, and Peter can’t stop laughing.  Eventually, the third time is a success, and then they’re heading across the hall for dinner with Sadie and Pru.

 

At some point, Pru asks them if they’re gamers, Peter grabs Wade’s wrist before he can throw a knife in his excitement, and Sadie tells them they’ve been wanting to try this old horror game, _The Forest_.  “Motherfucker, that’s scary,” Wade says, “You wouldn’t even let me buy it.”

 

“Because it looked fucking scary,” Peter says, in his defense.

 

And that’s how they end up crowded into their living room, the lights off, and trying to survive on a deserted island full of cannibals.  It’s only a two-player, so Sadie and Wade go first while Peter helps Pru with the dishes.  “So,” Peter says, glancing at Pru, “Been here a few months; how do you like it?”

 

“It’s amazing,” Pru says, smiling widely, “I can’t believe we found such a great place.  This is our first—I dunno, home, I guess, together, and I was so afraid things would go wrong, but it’s been fantastic so far.”

 

“I hear you on that,” Peter says, nodding, “I didn’t even want to look when we first found it.  There was _no way_ we could afford it, but—” Peter shrugs, thinking back to that first time he and Wade had woken up together in _their_ apartment, “Wade made it happen.”

 

“You really love him,” Pru says, closing the dishwasher, “Don’t you?”

 

Peter shrugs one shoulder, looking over to where Wade’s rambling nonsense and doing his damndest to scare Sadie.  “I do,” he says, “He makes me happy.”

 

“And that’s all that matters in the end, so cheers to that.  Do you guys drink?”  Peter laughs, nodding, and Pru grins.  “With mouths like those, I’d hope so.  You two put us to shame.”  Peter looks stricken, thinking about the thickness of their walls, but Pru’s laugh lets him off the hook.  “I meant how much you swear, Jesus, not the sex.  Though, granted, I have heard that while walking by before.”

 

“Oh god,” Peter groans, covering his face.

 

Pru just keeps laughing at him, and then they’re heading over toward the living room.  Sadie’s on the sofa, legs folded under her, and leaning forward while she plays, but Wade’s on the ground, legs kicked out, and he looks so at ease that Peter can’t stop the smile that forms as he drops down next to him.

 

“ _Spidey_ ,” Wade whines, looping his right arm around him and dragging him ass over tea kettle into his lap.  Peter allows it, waits until Wade’s got both hands on the controller again before he settles, back to chest with him, and then he sips from his drink, whistling.

 

“This is strong,” he says, lifting his glass.  Pru taps the edge of hers with his and tucks up next to Sadie to watch them play.

 

They’ve just come out of a rather nasty bit of game when Sadie pauses it and says, “Pee break!  And then one more round, and we’re going outside to give candy to kids.”

 

“Do you have a big white van, as well?” Pru teases.

 

Peter expects Wade to respond in like, but instead Wade’s arms tighten around him and he drops a kiss to Peter’s neck before he hides there.  “You okay?” Peter asks softly, rubbing one of his arms.

 

“So long and lost, are you missing me?” Wade kisses the words along his cotton shoulder.

 

“Refill,” Pru says, getting up.

 

“Oh, thank you,” Peter says, handing up his glass.  He waits until she’s safely in the kitchen before he turns his head to the side, kisses Wade’s temple, and whispers, “It’s been so long between the words we spoke.”

 

Wade hums softly, “Is it too late to come on home?  Are all those bridges now old stone?” he breaks off, burrowing again, and Peter just holds onto him, closing his eyes as he leans his head against Wade’s.  “I need the clouds to cover me,” Wade murmurs, “Pulling them down, surround me.  Without your love, I’ll be so long and lost, are you missing me?”

 

“I just thought of Fall Out Boy, I’m so sorry,” Peter says.

 

“You’re dead to me,” Wade says, but doesn’t release him.

 

Sadie’s voice floats back out to them, and Peter taps his arm.  “Are you okay?” he asks again.

 

“No,” Wade mumbles.

 

“Do you want to leave?”  There’s a moment of silence, but then Wade’s pulling away, leaning Peter forward and climbing out from behind him.  “Hey,” Peter says, grabbing his hand before he can disappear, “Talk to me.”

 

“Stay here,” Wade says, “Have fun.”  And then he’s gone.

 

Peter watches him force a smile and thanks to Pru and Sadie, who look confused when the door closes behind him.  “I should, uh—” Peter says, standing up, but he doesn’t know where that sentence is going.

 

“It’s pretty dark out,” Sadie says, offering him a small smile, “Kids might be out already.”

 

Peter nods quickly.  “Yeah, sounds good.  Let me just—costumes, right?”

 

“Right!” Sadie exclaims, brightening, “I totally forgot.  You have to, shut up,” she adds when Pru starts to whine.

 

Peter heads across the hall, but Wade’s not inside.  He grabs his own suit, if only to see Daniel’s face when he walks downstairs in it, checks on Florence, and sends a quick text Wade’s way, _and the only solution was to stand and fight, and my body was bruised, and I was set alight, but you came over me like some holy rite, and although I was burning, you’re the only light._

Two miles away, Wade smiles when he reads it.

 

“Wade?” Violet’s voice pulls him back, “You stopped in the middle of your sentence.  Is everything okay?”

 

“Peter,” Wade says softly, “He just—sorry.  He sent me a message.”

 

“What did it say?” Violet asks.

 

“Lyrics from our favorite musician,” Wade says, reaching up a hand to grab his hood and pull it up when a passing group of kids stare at him, “We named Florence after her.”

  
“I remember,” Violet says, “Florence and the Machine.  He used to sing it to you to calm you down during our sessions sometimes.  Does he still?”

  
“Intermittently,” Wade says, “It helps.”

 

“Is it okay if we go back to what you were saying before?”  Wade makes a nondescript noise, so Violet continues, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Wade.  This conversation is completely up to you.”

  
“Is this something normal people do?”

 

“What are you doing right now, Wade?” Violet asks.

 

“Callin’ you,” he mutters, “ _Therapy_.”

 

“Personally,” Violet says, and then Wade can hear wind on the other line, like she’s outside, “I believe that everyone should participate in therapy.  Even if you’ve not experienced something traumatic, talking about even your daily life is very healthy.  Do you and Peter talk about mundane things?”

 

“Me and the spidey talk about everything,” Wade says, “I once sent him a picture of my shit while he was at work, and he sent me a fuckin’ gun emoji.  He’s the apple of my eye, that kid is.”

 

“What about your jobs?  Do you tell him what happens during those?”

 

“Sometimes,” Wade says, “Call him every Thursday night, still, and give him the deets sometimes.  We’re always talkin’, though, ‘cept when I’m doing the unalivin’, you know?  But this ain’t about him.  He knows all my shit.  He just—” Wade breaks off, frowning.

 

“Why are you not with him right now?” Violet asks, “What is he doing?”

 

“Hanging out with the lesbians,” Wade says, “They moved in a couple months ago, and they’re real nice, don’t stare or nothin’ rude as fuck like that.  We was havin’ a good time, boxes were mindin’ their bizzyness, and then—man, it’s like I got a pair of fuckin’ Hulk smash fists in my head.  You know the ones?  Little kiddies be snatchin’ them up at Target and whatnot, those little plastic green things, tick tick boom, gotta crash these killjoy hearts together.  You ever did an emo phase, doc?”

 

“The chemical makeup of your brain during your teenage years is to account for the so-called emo phase.  Do you feel like that right now, Wade?”

 

“Just dark up there,” he says, and is about to go on when he looks up and stops.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing really.  It’s just a hot dog stand.

 

“Wade?”

 

“First time the webhead ever even _thought_ to look my way was cos I offered him a hot dog.”

 

Violet takes the switch in topic in stride, and Wade thinks that’s why he trusts her, “Rooftop hot dogs?”  That, and she remembers their rules.

 

“He popped into one of _my_ fights, and I woulda yelled at him, but that ass in spandex, so we did the team-up thing, and then he told me was all pissed off that I unalived some peeps, so next time I seen him, I didn’t do it, and we had rooftop hot dogs.  They were the bomb diggity.”

 

“Did you know who he was then?”

 

“Nah,” Wade sighs, turning back the way he’s come, “Didn’t show his ugly mug until we was friends for a whole frickin’ six months.  _That_ long.”

 

“And when did you take off your mask?”

 

Wade swallows.  He remembers the night clearer than he likes to.  It had been a full year since Peter had first trusted him with his identity, since that first time he’d had asked if he liked to game, and that’s how they ended up on Peter’s bed in May’s house, playing _Call of Duty_ well past the witching hour.  He’d disappeared for a few weeks after that, came back and found him packing, all excited about moving out of May’s and into his own apartment.  The sofa had an imprint of his ass in his new apartment, that’s how often he was there, but he was so afraid, and then one night, Peter had muttered something about not poking fun, flipped over onto his side, and passed out with his head resting on Wade’s thigh, and he’d just—taken off the mask.  In the morning, Peter didn’t even look twice, and Wade had never left it on again around him.

 

“Too long,” Wade says, “But now.”  He shrugs, glances back at the hot dog stand, and nods.  “Got rid of some of my baggage, doc.  Thanks for listening.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for, Wade.  As before, anytime you need to clear a few cobwebs, I’m available.  Are you on your way back home now?”

 

“Yeah, think so.  Peter’s feedin’ kittens or somethin’.  _I_ thought chocolate was bad for animals.”

 

“Kids, probably.”

 

“Goats?  Nah.  Have a spooky evening, Miss Sweet Summers,” Wade says, and hangs up.

 

The next time he smiles, it’s because Peter just whipped a Snickers bar at him, and he was so busy catching it, he didn’t notice he’d webbed while Sadie and Pru weren’t looking, and then he lands on Wade’s shoulders, presses a smacking, wet kiss against his cheek.

 

——

 

Halloween passes harmlessly.  They stay up obnoxiously late after the candy bowl has been emptied, playing _Silent Hill_ and falling asleep while _Corpse Bride_ is on.  It’s back to work in the morning, and then it’s November.

 

About a week before Thanksgiving, Wade’s trying to decipher the message he received from Tony that morning when he realizes he’s running late for his meeting with Violet.  He spends most of his days playing with Florence, occasionally taking small jobs that only keep him away for a few days, and generally spending more than half of his time with nanny.  Daniel had offhandedly mentioned one day that he was starting to worry he would need a caretaker for her, and Wade volunteered without hesitation.  He thinks his already established relationship with her was the only reason Daniel agreed, and it’s been turning his life on its head, listening to her stories and helping her through life.

 

Now, though, he’s quick to kiss her cheek in farewell, skip past Daniel in the lobby, and race through the streets of New York on his bike.  When he pulls up, Violet is just calling him, but he doesn’t answer, instead takes the elevator up to her floor, smiles when her secretary pages him in, and starts talking as soon as he’s inside, “All the apologies in the world, Miss Sweet Summers, got caught up with the lander’s nanny, dog gone forgot what time it was.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Violet says, indicating his usual seat as she gets up to make tea, “How is that going for you?”

 

“Amazeballs,” Wade says, dumping into the sofa.  Something squeaks in his pocket, and Wade blinks, peering inside.  “Holy shiznat, I forgot you were there!” he yelps, and quickly pulls Florence out.  She looks a little frazzled, probably from the high speed chase Wade was pretending he was part of, and she wobbles in his hand.

 

When Violet comes back with tea, she places a small bowl of water on the table between them, and Florence meows pitifully, so Wade sets her down to drink.  “Nanny’s great,” he says, “She can’t see for shit, and she’s got these badass stories.  Half of them, I don’t give two rat’s asses about cos they probably ain’t real, but they’re still fun to listen to.”

 

“And how is it being around Daniel more?  You haven’t had the easiest time with him.”

 

Wade shrugs one shoulder and tries to sip his tea, making a face at how hot it is.  He mimics Florence, trying to lick it, but ends up just holding it in his hands to warm them.  “Danny boy finally untwisted his panties about the spidey, probably figured divorce wasn’t in the cards, _so_.”

 

“And how is that going?” Violet asks, “You’ve been married for a few months now.  Just a little over four, yes?”

 

Wade shrugs his other shoulder.  “Same as before,” he says, “I’m never letting him go.”

 

“Good,” Violet says, smiling, “How was your morning before you got here?”

 

Wade frowns, thinking back to that message.  “I, uh—” he sighs, lifting a hand to scrub at the back of his neck.  Florence looks over at the motion, little tongue darting out to wet her nose before her butt wiggles and she leaps from table to sofa, padding over to curl up against Wade’s side.  He smiles, dropping a hand to card through her fur.  “Got a text from Tony this morning.”

 

“Really?” Violet says, making a note, “And what did it say?”

 

“Thanksgiving’s coming up, and he wants to invite Peter over.  Said he wanted to give me a heads up, too, because he was invitin’ this sorry ass, as well.”

 

“Wade,” Violet says.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade says, rubbing between Florence’s ears, “I just—hate them a lot.”

 

“You’ve had a difficult past with them.  Do you think this is something you could work through?  Maybe this is an olive branch?”

 

“Ain’t no one tossin’ out olive branches but the first lady, purple lady, and I’m talkin’ ‘bout Eve, not Michelle, though, let’s be real, _she_ should be runnin’ for office, not the rest of them turd burglars.  ‘Cept the webhead believes in the big bang, right, and so’s do I, but you gotta think sometimes, right, what if there is a god capital G odd.  What if his name was Zodd?  What if he was plannin’ on striking us all down, Krypton style?  Bad-a-bing, bad-a-boom.  I’m still at the big bang life right now, but mama done said ain’t nothin’ good comes of those who don’t believe in him capital H immunize.  Euthanize?  Yeah.”

 

“Was your mother a devout woman, Wade?”

 

“Not talkin’ to you about her, only the spidey gets that privilege,” Wade mutters, “’Sides, not the point.  This might be a trap.  It’s a trap!  Mister Sulu!”

 

“Do you think it’s a trap, Wade?”

 

“No,” Wade sighs, “But I don’t like the idea of trampin’ around with them losers, either.  They think spidey’s some kind of loser for shackin’ up with me, and I’m not playin’ that game again.  They been trying to split us apart since day one, said I was a menace to society or something, _Dennis_!  Which, hey, true’s true is true’s true.  Leave all your love and your longing behind, you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive, ya hear?  ‘Cept when Cap gets _his_ thong all up his crack, tinman calls my baby boy up, says he needs a hand in Germany, fucking _Germany_.  Like they were some Nazis rappin’ their knuckles together, and here’s me thinkin’, says to myself, I says, well Wade, they can’t have a merc runnin’ amok in their fancy dancy doodad fight cos they ain’t actually wanting to kill each other, ya hear, they just want a fair shake.  Fair square.  Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that, happiness hit her like a bullet in the back— _no_.  That’s wrong.  Fuck.”

 

“Wade, can you try breathing with me for a little bit?”

 

“Flo’s job,” Wade mumbles, and picks her up, setting his tea down on the table so he can tuck his chin around her little body.  She’s purring, and she turns to lick his face.  Wade closes his eyes, listens to the rasp of Florence’s tongue over his scarred skin, and softly whispers into her fur, “If you could only see the beast you’ve made of me.”

 

His phone starts ringing.

 

Wade wastes a second wondering if something happened to Peter before he drops Florence into his lap and pulls his phone out—restricted.  “Hold, please, doc,” he says before he answers, letting his voice drop an octave, “Deadpool.”

 

The voice is modulated on the other line, “30k finder’s fee, 20k for the kill, file in ten if you accept.”

 

“Oh, talk dirty to me why don’t you,” Wade says, “How long you been lookin’ for the target?”

 

“Eight months.”

 

“Shey-it,” Wade says, “A’ight.  Square deal.  Timeframe?”

 

“We’d like this to be taken care of no later than three months’ time.”

 

“File in eight,” Wade says and hangs up.

 

“Thanksgiving?” Violet asks.

 

“Off the table,” Wade says, “I know what you’re gonna say, doc—”

 

“Your life is up to you,” Violet says, and it gives Wade pause because she very rarely interrupts him, “I am only here to help you come to terms with your decisions.  I do have a question, though.  Do you think you should have accepted that without speaking to Peter first?”

 

His phone buzzes again, and Wade flashes it her way.  _50k?  For three months?  Better be good sex when you get back, dickhat._

“Oh?” Violet says uncertainly.

 

“Peter set up this program cos he’s a fuckin’ Brainiac.  We were up late one night, after a bad mission, fuckin’ _nose_.  That shit _blew_.  Ha, blew.  Couldn’t breathe right, and my lungs were all fucked up, too, so comin’ out of that was a nightmare, but I said to him, I says, hey Petey pie—he _hates_ that, it’s glorious—wish I could tell you about a mission while I’m gettin’ the deets.  And he’s fuckin’ brilliant, this kid, half the reason I love him, builds this program that starts collectin’ data as soon as I say _Deadpool_ ,” he drops his voice again, “so’s he’s gettin’ an almost real time feed of the deal.  Been workin’ good so far.  Fuckin’ fancy, and it cuts out the middle man.”

 

“And what if Peter had told you he didn’t want you to leave for that long?”

 

Wade shrugs.  “He wouldn’t.  We’re past all that, doc.  Done did our time in the bad months, and now we’re back to the regularly scheduled program, ya know?  He knows I’m comin’ back.”

 

“And you are, right?”

 

“To him?” Wade says, smiling, “Always.”

 

——

 

Thanksgiving arrives.  Peter stops at May’s first, collecting Harry on his way.  “Absolutely not,” Peter says, yanking Harry out of his desk,” Oscorp is _closed_ , Harry.  Put that down.”  He smacks a tablet out of his hand and pulls him by the collar of his shirt.

 

“God, you’re worse than my secretary,” Harry grumbles, twisting out of Peter’s hold.  Peter webs his hand to his pants when he tries to grab the tablet again.  “Pete!”

 

“Oh god, no,” Peter whines, shoving him toward the door, “Stop.  Why can no one just call me Peter, honest to Satan.”

 

“Honest to who?” Harry says, sufficiently distracted.

 

“Wade terminology,” Peter says, giving him one last boot out of the door before he closes it behind them.  “Come on, Aunt May is going to have a fit if we’re late.”

 

“I thought you were hanging out with the Avengers today?” Harry says, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on.

 

Peter throws his scarf at him, and says, “Later.  Aunt May wanted to do Thanksgiving lunch because she’s a saint or something and wants to give me _the opportunity to dine with superheroes_.  Verbatim, man.”

 

“She’s just proud her little boy is all grown up,” Harry coos, and then jumps on him before Peter can turn to glare at him.  Peter grunts, stumbles, and straightens up, Harry comfortably on his back.  “A thought just occurred to me,” Harry says, looping his arms around Peter’s front, “Could you take Wade in a fight?”

 

“Why everyone thinks I’m a bumbling string bean, I’ll have no idea,” Peter says, heading for the elevator at the end of the hall, “I mean, really, do I look breakable?”

 

“From the outside, yes,” Harry says, “ _I_ know you work out, and clearly, you’re carrying me around right now, so.  But he’s got, like, super strength, right?”

 

Peter spins away from the elevator, grins when Harry starts yelling at him, and hops over the side of the railing.  Harry clings to him, whining about heights and untrustworthiness and _spiders_ , and as Peter climbs down one wall and webs to the next landing, he says, “Not actually a spider, Harry.”

 

“You fucking move like one!  Oh god!”  By the time they make it to ground level, Harry is quick to scramble off of him and say, “Okay, Jesus, Wolverine.”

 

“Wolverine could kick both our asses,” Peter says, and Harry just laughs.

 

Harry point blank refuses to web to May’s, so they take one of his expensive cars, and they’re halfway there when Harry says, “Are you _Snapchatting_ right now?”

 

“So Tony’s gonna flip his shit when he finally realizes,” Peter says, posting a video of the traffic going by with a little Thanksgiving filter attached to his story, “It was Wade’s idea initially, but also, I work at the Bugle, _who hates Spiderman_ , so it sounded like a cool idea, give him some media love.”

 

“By him, you mean you,” Harry says, “ _Wait_.  That’s _Spiderman’s_ Snapchat?  This is bound to end terribly.”

 

“Okay, but,” Peter says, “Consider this.”

 

He taps Wade’s story, which contains seven pictures of his katanas at different angles, and then a video filled entirely with gunfire—at nothing.

 

“Tell me Johnny has one,” Harry says.

 

“Yeah, and he’s 100% douchebag on it,” Peter says, opening his, which is just a picture of a turkey on fire and Johnny’s thumbs up in the corner.  _Turkey roasted?  Success_ , says the caption.

 

“Have you talked to him at all?” Harry asks.

 

“Ugh, _yes_ ,” Peter groans, “Harry.  _We_ talked.”

 

“Why does that sound so ominous?” Harry says, frowning.

 

“Because Wade fucking called him up, and we all went out to dinner.”  Harry gapes.  “Yeah,” Peter agrees, “I was so nervous going in, but—I dunno, man.  They worked things out.  Somehow, they came to some kind of understanding.  And then Wade punched him in the face.  But, you know, progress.  Johnny didn’t hit him back.”

 

Harry just laughs.  “Listen, man,” he says as he pulls up outside of May’s house, “I’m happy for you.  I really am.  Sounds like you need both of those idiots in your life.  Come on, _food_.”

 

Thanksgiving at May’s is everything Peter’s been needing.  She stuffs them full of the most incredible food, and they hang out for hours after with her, Harry chatting and Peter snuggling.  When it’s finally time to part ways, Peter promises to stop by next week for dinner, hugs her tightly, and then lets Harry convince him that he can drive him to the compound.

 

It’s still early, only about five, and Peter’s not sure how the hell he’s going to eat _another_ Thanksgiving, but everyone’s running behind in the compound, and dinner doesn’t end up happening until almost seven.  There’s a resounding cheer of _Peter!_ when he walks in, and he’s immediately drawn in for several hugs.  He glues himself to Tony’s side after, if only to annoy him, until Tony finally wrestles him into a headlock and yells at Bruce to hulk smash at him, who just lifts one eyebrow and tells him to fend for himself.

 

It’s not until they’ve just finished setting the table, and Peter’s come back out to help transfer food, that Nat leans a hip against the doorway and says, “Rumor has it you got married.”

 

Steve drops a wicked looking knife, Bruce nearly burns his hand, and Tony turns on the spot, eyes bugging wide.  Peter starts to pretend he has no idea what she’s talking about, but really, he has nothing to hide from, even if they don’t approve.  “Yeah,” he says, grabbing a bowl of mashed potatoes, “In June.”

 

There’s a clamor of noise as he goes back into the dining room, and when he returns, they seem to have composed themselves because Steve says, albeit with a few razor sharp edges in his voice, “Congratulations, Peter,” and strides past him with a plate of green beans.

 

“Dude, what,” Tony whines, swatting at him, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

Peter shrugs.  “I was pretty certain you still held the same stance as before,” he says, “It was just a small thing.  We went to City Hall, Aunt May and the guys were there.  It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Dude, you’re _married_ ,” Tony says.

 

“No ring?” Bruce asks.

 

Peter blinks, looking down at his left hand.  “Oh,” he says.

 

“Oh my god, you’re such a boy,” Nat mutters on her way by.

 

Peter shrugs again.  “Didn’t really occur to us, I guess,” he says, “Besides, it doesn’t make sense.  Rings are old school.”

 

Peter leaves before they can argue with them, snaps a picture of the finished spread, and sends it Wade’s way to make him jealous.  He gets a text two hours later, when they’re all talking over dessert and alcohol, _I’m starvingggg, spidey, that’s not fairrrrrr_.

 

 _Come home, then_ , he says even though he knows he can’t.

 

 _In the morning, sunshine_ , Wade says, and then he’s back to not responding.

 

——

 

Three months turns into four.  Around the second month, Peter had weathered several conversations about Wade’s frustration, and then, he went dark during the third month.  Peter’s still called him every Thursday, still sent him pictures of Florence and the occasional dirty text, but he gets nothing in return.  And then, it’s nearly the end of March, and there’s a box on the floor below the mailboxes when he gets back from work.

 

There’s an _organ_ inside.

 

He’s still there, twenty minutes later, when Daniel gets back from the office, and he pauses when he spots Peter sitting on the floor, head tipped back against the wall.  “Peter?” he says unsurely.

 

“Hey,” Peter says, lifting his head and quickly closing the box.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, just—” he makes a nondescript motion with his hand and fails at hiding the way he wants to shake apart.

 

There’s a fucking _lung_ inside the box.

 

“Is—Wade okay?” Daniel asks uncertainly, “He’s been gone for a couple months, right?”

 

“He’s—he’s fine,” Peter forces himself to say, “Sorry, shouldn’t be moping down here.”  He gathers up the box and the rest of his mail, making for the stairs before Daniel can stop him.  He’s halfway to his floor when he calls Johnny.

 

“Hey Parker,” Johnny says around a yawn, “What’s up?”

 

“Dude, can I crash at yours?”

 

“Something happen?” Johnny says, and Peter hears him moving, “You bringing Florence?”

 

“No, all of her shit’s here.  I just—I don’t want to be alone in that apartment right now.  There was a package with the mail today.”

 

“Shit, no,” Johnny sighs.

 

“Had a fucking _lung_ in it, Johnny.”

 

“A—what?  Peter, are you sure it’s from him?  That seems a bit much.”

 

“Yeah, of course it’s—” he pauses as he flips the box around, and that’s not Wade’s handwriting looking back up at him.  In fact, there’s nothing written on the front at all.  “I’m bringing Flo,” Peter says quickly, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”  He hangs up before Johnny can respond and sprints through the rest of the stairs.  He waits until he’s inside the apartment, door locked, before he calls Tony.

 

“Hello, Mister Parker,” Jarvis says amicably, “Mister Stark is—”

 

“Jarvis, it’s an emergency,” Peter says as he webs up onto the loft.

 

“One moment, sir,” he says, and Peter’s got a backpack half full of clothes before the line transfers.

 

“What’s going on?” Tony says, sounding nervous, “I’ve got—six suits prepped.  Cap’s on his way down.”

 

“I’m going to Johnny’s,” Peter says quickly, grabbing a few books and shoving those in, as well, “Someone sent me a fucking _lung_ , and it wasn’t Wade, but it was probably his.”

 

“How do you know it wasn’t from him?” Tony asks, “Are you sure?”

 

“Positive.  Florence!  Tony, there was nothing written on the box, _anywhere_.  Wade sends his shit in the mail; this was dropped off at my building.  In the lobby, Jesus fucking Christ, they’re probably in the building right now, they could be—” Peter breaks off as he turns, and someone is standing in the shadows by the door.  “Tony,” he whispers.

 

The someone steps out into the apartment, head tilted to the side.  Peter doesn’t recognize her, but he recognizes the fact that she’s holding Florence.  “Cute cat,” she says, “Didn’t know Wilson was a pussy man again.”

 

“Please,” Peter says, slowly lowering his backpack and phone, though he doesn’t hang up, “Just—just let her go.”

 

“So, you’re the new beau?” she says, nodding, “Not as hot as the last one, but still.”  She drops Florence without preamble, who comes running at full tilt toward the loft, scrambling up the ladder.  By the time Peter’s scooped her up, the woman is standing in his open doorway.  “Tell Wilson I said hello,” she says.

 

“Wait,” Peter says, setting Florence down on the bed.  He just needs to stall for a few more seconds, and so he jumps down from the loft, hands raised as he approaches her.

 

“Wait?” she says, and, to his utter surprise, comes back in.  The door shuts quietly behind her, and she cracks a few knuckles together.  “You wanna dance, kid?  I know who you are, but you don’t know jack _shit_ about what I can do to you.  You’re nothin’ but—” 

 

Something sharp shimmers in the dying sun, and both of them look down at the blade sticking out of her stomach.

 

The front door swings open, revealing Steve in full Captain America regalia, a gun resting on his shoulder, Bucky just visible behind him.

 

“Mother—” she starts to say, jerking forward and turning, but Peter webs each of her hands, snaps her back around, and pins them together, fingers closing over hers.  She smashes her face against his, and Peter grunts even as he kicks off the ground, one foot propelling him as it smacks against the wall, and then they’re both on the floor, Peter kneeling on her throat.

 

There’s this awful wheezing sound, and then something like a body thudding against the ground as Steve comes in, Bucky following him, checking the rest of the apartment.  Peter looks over to the window, sees Tony dropping down onto the terrace, and then Nat’s pushing him up and away from the would-be assassin.

 

“Perimeter is secure,” Tony says as the helmet slides back, “Who is she?”

 

“No idea,” Nat says, frowning.

 

Peter turns as the shadows near the stairs move.  He’s a little bit ashamed of how long it takes him to piece together the lung, the katana, and the wheezing.  “Shit,” he says, and nearly vaults over the woman and Nat in his haste to get to Wade.

 

He’s a mess.

 

His suit is torn to shreds, there’s still-sticky blood matted against the leather, and a gaping hole in his chest with raised edges like it was halfway to healing and then just stopped.  Peter’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t notice Wade’s hand until it’s already curled around his arm.

 

“Why aren’t you healing?” he asks, and lifts his gaze to Wade’s face.  Something’s—wrong.  Peter can’t quite make out what, but something is very different.

 

“Peter,” he gasps, fingers tightening around him, “ _Loki_.”

 

Peter blinks.  “What?” he says, “He’s in—”

 

“Holy _shit_ , that’s a lot of lightning,” Tony says.

 

Peter looks over at him, frowning.  Two seconds later, Thor is standing in his apartment, and the woman is laughing.

 

“My brother has escaped,” Thor says, “He’s released a bioweapon fueled by his magic.”

 

“No,” Peter says, turning back to Wade, and then he sees it.  His face is unscarred.  In fact, Peter notices, every patch of skin he can see is smooth, unharmed, unrecognizable.  “Wade, what—”

 

He’s also unconscious.

 

——

 

Wade only gets flashes of what comes next.

 

The next time he sees enough to comprehend the noise around him, it’s because his lungs have been filled with oxygen, and it’s _too much_.  “There’s something wrong,” an unfamiliar voice says.

 

“Why isn’t he healing?”  There’s Peter, and Wade’s fingers twitch as he tries to reach for him, but god, he’s going to die, there’s so much oxygen in his body, too much, _too much_ , and this has never been a problem before, he’s never had enough, but he’s going to burst from it.  “His _lung_ ,” Peter says.

 

Yes, yes, yes.

 

Wade wants to scream.

 

“There’s something wrong with it,” he says, and Wade sees him dart past, “It must not be—”

 

“Fully formed,” the unfamiliar voice says.

 

“Fully healed,” Peter translates.

 

“Shit, oxygen poisoning,” another voice says, and Wade’s about to place it with a face when darkness consumes him.

 

The next time he opens his eyes, he has to blink to be sure he’s done so.  The ceiling above him is black with night, and the darkness is so all-consuming that he thinks he’s woken in space.  There’s a heart monitor digging into his finger, though, and it rockets him back to Vanessa, to wishing for anything, to _cancer_.

 

Wade lets his head drop to the side, finds Peter curled up in a normally uncomfortable position, one of his knees tucked up near his ear, other one supporting his head.  He tries to reach for him, and pain splits across his chest.  He looks down, gapes at the _stitches_ there.

 

Panic floods through him.  Why is he not healing?  What _happened_?  He tries to push upright, tries to discard this absurdity, and finds he can’t move.

 

There’s light in his periphery, and Wade tries to tilt his head that way, tries to understand.  An unfamiliar woman is going blurry at the edges.  “What’s that noise?” Peter mumbles.

 

“Wade, can you hear me?” the woman asks.

 

It sounds like she’s speaking in a different language.

 

“Wa—” his name falls deaf, and he’s floating in space again.

 

Once, the world is on fire.

 

Wade wakes gasping, and _fuck_ , he remembers this pain, remembers it eviscerating him, remembers it consuming every cell of his body, remembers wanting to die.

 

The walls shake around him.

 

When he looks toward the window at his left, the skyline is a haze of smoke and flames.  The moon drips red, and there is a black plume snaking up toward the stars.

 

There’s a voice to his right, “I understand, Miss Potts, but just in case.”

 

“The compound is _not_ going to lose power.  It’s running on the same energy as the Tower, and—”

 

“ _If_ it does, Mister Wilson will die, so it’s best to prepare accordingly.”

 

“Can’t die,” he mumbles, trying to turn his head their way.  He finally manages, and that unfamiliar woman is there again.

 

“Evening, Wade,” she says kindly, “My name is Doctor Cho, and we’re doing everything we can to help.  As far as I can tell, your cells have been affected by something I cannot hope to understand without further information, but we will do everything in our power to keep you alive until we can reverse it.”

 

“Cancer?” he asks, his syllables crashing together.

 

Doctor Cho frowns.  “Running rampant, I’m afraid,” she says.

 

Wade closes his eyes, mouths _Peter_ , and falls off the edge.

 

——

 

After they get Wade to the compound and figure out how to get him stable, Peter finds Steve and Thor leading a discussion on their plan of attack.  He hears enough to confirm that mutants all over New York are being similarly affected by whatever bio-magical weapon he released, and then it occurs to him that Wade’s scars are not the only thing that might be changing.

 

He runs back through the compound, skidding to a halt outside Wade’s door, and starts talking the second he’s inside, “Wade had cancer before Weapon X got a hold of him.  I mean, it’s still there, but the healing factor got rid of it.  If the healing factor is gone—”

 

“The cancer will resurface,” Doctor Cho agrees, beckoning him over.  Peter comes up on Wade’s other side, swallowing through a dry throat at that awful hole.  “You can see straight through to the half-formed lung,” Cho says, indicating the hole, “It’s riddled with cancerous cells.”

 

“Is there any way to predict how long we have to reverse this before he—um, before he—” Peter stops, looks down and away.

 

“Before he dies?” Cho supplies for him, “I’m running tests now.  I will inform Mister Stark of my findings as soon as they have been made apparent.”

 

“Doctor Cho,” Peter says softly, forcing himself to look up at Wade.  He looks so different like this, without the pockmarked skin, the angry crisscross of lines that Peter had grown to love, knowing that this was something Wade would never trust a single other human being with, and yet here they were.  And now—now, he knows that that’s Wade lying in a hospital bed, but the image doesn’t quite fit into his mind.  He can’t process this Wade, an unconscious and injured one who looks like someone they picked up off the street.  He doesn’t look like _Wade_.

 

“He can’t die,” he says finally before he steps forward, taking one of Wade’s hands, “He can’t.”

 

“I will do everything I can to prevent that, Mister Parker.  Perhaps—”

 

“Spiderman?” Steve comes over the comms, “Quinjet in ten.”

 

Peter closes his eyes, holding onto Wade for a last second before he leans forward, presses a kiss to his forehead, and hurries off to the hangar.

 

New York is in mayhem.

 

In the quinjet, it’s a mess of noise.  Tony’s arguing with Rhodey over the phone about whether or not to involve the military, Steve is having a one-sided conversation that Peter can only assume is with Charles, Bruce is sending out locations of confirmed attacked mutants for SHIELD to pick up and help, and Peter’s been instructed to get in contact with the Fantastic Four.

 

“Dude, what the _fuck_?” Johnny says by way of answer, “Tell me you guys are seeing this.”

 

“We’re on our way.  Suit up.”

 

“Reed’s already got the _Fantasticar_ going.  Seriously, stupidest name ever.  Wade with you?”

 

“No,” Peter says, chin dropping toward his chest, “He’s hurt.”

 

“ _Wade_?” Johnny says like he doesn’t believe him, “Are you _sure_?  Maybe he’s just tired, and doesn’t feel like helping?  That was rude, sorry.”

 

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Peter says, trying for a small smile and just ending up biting his lower lip, trying to stop the oncoming tide.

 

“Peter, what happened?  Yeah, shut up, I’m coming!”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter says quickly, “He’s not—he’s not _Wade_.”

 

“Dude, the fuck’s that even mean?  He’s invincible, man.  How the hell did he get hurt?  Reed, calm your tits!  Oh, seriously?  You’re mad at me _now_?  New York’s on fucking fire, Sue!  Peter, I’m sorry, man, I gotta go, Ben looks like he’s about to cave my skull in.  Hang in there, okay?  I’ll find you on the battlefield.”  And then he’s gone, and Peter forces himself to swallow it down.

 

He grabs the mask where it’s sitting on the seat next to him and yanks it on.  He can’t be Peter right now.

 

Loki has brought hell to Earth.  Not literally, thankfully, but Peter feels like he’s wading through absolute destruction as the night wanes on.

 

He sees Johnny three times.  Once, he gets hurled from a rooftop, and though he gets his bearings and shoots a web, something awful rockets along his left side, and he goes careening toward the ground.  Johnny is there in seconds, trailing smoke.  Peter has half a second to consider this strange before they’re crashing into the ground, and then Johnny darts upright, limping away from him.  “Fucking knees,” he mutters, stretching out his legs.

 

“Someone try to douse you?” Peter asks as he inspects his side.  His suit’s been split open, and there’s more blood than he likes oozing down his side, but it’s nothing he can’t live with for now.

 

“Put a fucking water spell on me, the bastard,” Johnny says, finally coming to a standstill and lifting his fingers.  He snaps them together, and though flames lick up his skin, they’re also quickly sputtering out.  “It’s not really working cos he kind of missed, but fuck almighty, it’s difficult to get all _flame on_ when your left leg is hanging out like a normal boy.”

 

“Okay, Pinocchio,” Peter says, using the wall to heave himself upright.  “Ow, shit,” he hisses, flattening a hand over his side, “That was—whoops.”  He staggers right back onto his ass, blinking.

 

“You good, man?” Johnny says, coming over to help him up.

 

Peter leans heavily on him and says, “Yeah, just—don’t move.”  He webs a line along his side, seals the wound shut as best as he can for now.  He straightens away from Johnny, shakes his head, and says, “Yeah, good.”

 

They stick together for a while until an explosion separates them.  Johnny’s eyes ignite as he lunges to the left, and Peter webs away in the other direction.

 

The second time, it’s just in passing.  Tony is trying to dismantle one of the high-tech weapons Loki’s installed, and Johnny lands a second after Peter does.  Between the three of them, they manage to figure it out, and then it’s back to the skies.

 

Somehow, they don’t die.

 

The end comes all at once, and without fanfare.

 

He starts to web, trips over a huge chunk of metal on the ground, and scrapes his hands over broken glass on his way down.  He stays there, just intending to take one second to breathe, when Johnny lands next to him, staggers into the nearest building, and sits down.  “It’s over,” he says, “Holy fuck, I’m tired.”

 

“I’m hungry,” Peter says, and looks up.

 

The sun is high and bright, and Johnny mumbles something about it being past lunchtime, which just makes his bones ache even more.  They set out around six yesterday evening, and now, there’s a god falling from the sky.

 

“That Loki?” Peter asks, pointing.

 

“Mm, I was tasked with telling you we’re all done,” Johnny says, head tipping back and eyes closing, “Team effort.  Thor and Reed brought him down.  Now _that’s_ an interesting combo.  Where are you going?” he adds when Peter groans, getting to his feet.

 

“Wade,” he says, and starts running.

 

Johnny calls after him, but Peter turns down a corner and starts scaling the nearest building that isn’t destroyed.  He makes it back to the compound in a staggering twenty-five minutes, though much of that time is because the compound is surrounded by forests and not a heck of a lot of things to swing from.  He makes due, but he still wishes he’d been faster when he bursts into Wade’s room, and he’s awake.

 

“Oh my god,” he says, and hits the ground again.

 

“Christ on a cracker,” Wade says, and then he’s right there, fingers curling around Peter’s arms and hauling him upright.  “You okay, baby spidey?” Wade asks, brushing a small cluster of dirt from his cheek, “You’re lookin’ a right mess.”

 

“You’re—standing,” Peter says, blinking at him, “What?”  Wade taps his chest, which is covered by cotton, and that’s when Peter notices the long sleeves and pants.  “Your scars,” he says, and Wade nods.

 

“Gone,” he says, “Cancer’s back.  _Well_ ,” Wade sighs, “Not that it was ever truly gone, but now it’s roarin’ its ugly mug right back on up.  Like kaijus, spidey.  You ever seen those movies?  Man, giant robots versus giant aliens, I don’t even care about your plot, I’m just—”

 

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter says, “Please.  Two seconds.”

 

“Only two?” Wade says, and that hurts more than anything, that he so badly doesn’t want to address this.

 

“Make it quick,” Peter concedes, “Prognosis.  Now.”

 

“Four days.”

 

Peter nods slowly, and says, “That’s Saturday.”

 

Wade frowns at him.  “One of those days that end in y, yeah,” Wade says, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“Please don’t?”

 

“Peter,” Wade sighs, and lets go of him.

 

“No,” Peter says, arms dropping down by his sides.  “This isn’t—this isn’t permanent,” he says, gesturing feebly at Wade, “We can fix this.  Thor got Loki, and we’ll—he’ll reverse it.”

  
“Peter,” Wade says, shaking his head, “This is better.”

 

“Fuck you!” Peter shouts, throwing his mask at him, “How is this _better_?  Do you _want_ to die?  Do you _want_ to leave me alone?  Or do you just— _god_ , what am I even saying?  Does it hurt that much?  Am I not—not good enough?”

 

“Fuck _you_ ,” Wade says, his expression morphing into something lingering on fury, “You’re the only reason I haven’t pulled a boot straps Bill contraption and sunk myself to the bottom of the ocean, fuckin’—let myself drown over and over again.  Or, hell, give Death a ring and tell her to come collect, I’m all set with this fuckin’ asswipe of a world.  It’s _you_ that I’m still here for, Peter, but I told you, I fucking told you this was going to hurt.”

 

“Rule number five,” Peter says stubbornly, “You promised.”

 

“What the hell do you want me to do?  I am literally _dying_ , Peter.  Right fucking now,” Wade says, and he means to go on, but his morphine is starting to wear off, and his chest is screaming.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, looking away from him, “Four fucking days, and then you won’t have to worry anymore.”

 

Peter hits him.  He hits him hard enough that Wade staggers back before his gaze snaps up to stare at Peter in shock.  “Did you just—”

 

“Knock some sense into you?” Peter spits at him, “Yes, I fucking did.  I won’t have to _worry anymore_?  Wade, _shit_ , this was the first job you had that I didn’t hear from you on time that I didn’t freak out.  I get it now.  I know you’re coming back, no matter what happens, but this—this is bullshit.  You’re really going to let a little thing like cancer stand in your way?”

 

“Peter—”

 

“I love you, asshole,” Peter says, “I’m not letting you die.”

 

Wade swallows.  This is far from the reaction he was expecting from Peter.  In truth, he was ready to console him, ready to hold onto him as he fell apart, and really, he hates himself for thinking Peter wouldn’t look death in the face and laugh at it, not when it came to them because this, _them_ —he’s right.

 

“Okay,” Wade says, “I love you, too.”

 

“You’re bleeding,” Peter says, shoulders sagging.

 

Wade shrugs.  “So no scars?”

 

“It’s freaking me out,” Peter says, “You look weird bald now.”

 

Wade laughs and closes the distance between them, pulling Peter against him.  “You’re such a dick,” he says before he kisses his mess of hair, and Peter just grumbles incoherently at him and holds on.

 

——

 

Wade waits until Peter has fallen asleep that night before he escapes.  Doctor Cho brought in a cot for Peter, who had promptly ignored it and clambered into bed with Wade.  And so, it’s a little difficult extracting himself from around Peter.  He manages it regardless, and then he’s left standing there looking down at him.

 

This is the right thing to do.

 

He tries to keep telling himself that over and over, tries to convince himself that Peter is better off not having to deal with this for the next four days before, ultimately, he’s dealing with something much worse.  He knows villains like Loki, knows there’s no chance in hell that he’s going to reverse what he’s done, and nothing will convince him that an extra four days with Peter, in his current state, is ever going to be a good idea.

 

And so, he carefully detaches the heart monitor, listening to himself flat line for half a breath before he wedges it onto Peter’s index finger.  Then, it’s just a matter of sliding out his IV of morphine, tossing the cannula onto the bed, and forcing his limbs to work.

 

He makes it all the way into the basement before he’s struggling.  His shirt is soaked through with sweat, he can’t quite get all the way through his inhales, and his hands and knees are shaking.  Wade blames all of it on why he doesn’t think to look for an alarm to dismantle when he pushes into the armory.

 

It’s _beautiful_.

 

He’s got a lot of this back home, but it still feels like a good way to go, surrounded by such elegance.  Wade takes his time selecting a gun, and then carefully eases himself onto the ground with it.  He has to take a moment to steady himself, and then another to will his hands to stop shaking, but his fingers can’t manage a grip on the gun, keep slipping and unfolding, disobeying.

 

Someone else’s hand reaches forward and pries the gun from his.  “Fuck,” he manages, looking up to find Tony lowering to the ground opposite him.

 

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Tony says, and slides a bottle of whiskey across the floor.

 

Wade grins weakly and sips from it.  His exhale shakes when he sets it back down, and then Tony’s tossing an oxygen mask at him.

 

“Why are you down here?” he asks when Wade takes it gratefully, eyes closing as he inhales.

 

Tony waits him out until he lowers the mask, drinks from the bottle again, and says, “I’ve already done this dance once.  I’m not putting him through it, too.”

 

“The cancer dance?” Tony says, “We haven’t even talked to Loki yet.”

 

“Be honest,” Wade says, “You think he’s gonna jump to my aid lickity split?  Even if there are hundreds of mutants who got affected, he don’t give a shit.  They never do.”

 

“Wade,” Tony says, “We won’t—we’ll figure it out.  We just need a little time.”

 

“All I got is til Saturday,” he says before lifting the mask again.

 

“Then we have until Saturday,” Tony says, taking the bottle back from him, “Can you please try to hold on until then?  I’m being selfish here.  I don’t want to clean up this mess, or the resulting one with Peter.  He’ll destroy something.  He does love you, after all.”

 

“Pipsqueak’ll be fine,” Wade mutters, “He doesn’t need me.”

 

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

 

“Me either,” Wade says, and they don’t speak anymore, just drink and breathe.

 

Wade loses time between trying to kill himself and waking up in his bed again.  His brain supplies the image of Tony carrying him, but that feels bizarre, so he sets it aside for later consideration and turns his head to find Peter curled up against him.  His shirt has been shucked up halfway, and Peter’s tracing invisible lines across his stomach.

 

“Morning,” Wade mumbles, leaning over to press a kiss to his hair, “Tickles.”

 

“Is this what you want?” Peter asks, finger looping in a circle before darting out and up toward his ribs.  It occurs to Wade, belatedly, that he’s following the pattern of scars that aren’t there.

 

“For a long time, yeah,” Wade admits, “Spent years tryin’ find the guy who fucked me up only to find out he couldn’t fix it.  _Fix_ , like it was somethin’ that needed to be undone.  Not anymore.”  He nudges at Peter until he tips his head back, and then he leans down to kiss him, this softy, careful thing.  “You did all the fixin’ I needed,” he says when he pulls back, resting his forehead against Peter’s.

 

“If you were given the option, though,” Peter presses on, “If Loki could somehow take them away, but give you back the healing factor.”

 

“Spidey, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Wade says, “But that ain’t a reflection on you, baby boy.  That’s me.  They fuckin’ hurt.  Like—shit, like a house on fire.  Like fuckin’ penguins that ain’t walkin’ right.  _Like_ , who the fuck knows, like spiders with no legs.  It’s better now that it ain’t a fuckin’ mental issue, too, but they’re still there, they still hurt like a motherfucker.  Why, this leprechaun too ugly without ‘em?”

 

“You’re definitely not a leprechaun,” Peter says, and kisses him, “Just something to get used to.  I love you no matter what.”

 

“What if I was _blue_?”

 

“I would divorce you,” Peter says, nodding, “No Smurfs, no thanks.”

 

“Spidey!” Wade exclaims, and means to go on, but the effort catches something in his chest, and he quickly leans away, coughing.  Peter stays plastered to his side, hand coming up to rub circles along his chest.  The fit passes, and he’s left wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.  “Goddamn this baby lung,” he mutters finally.

 

“What happened?” Peter asks.

 

“Loki’s fuck ass boring minion came swoopin’ in, shot off this grenade shit that looked like a ratchety old contraption, and I didn’t think twice, oh well, gone get blown to smithereens, but ain’t my problem for too long, and then there was just— _gas_.  Troll stinkin’ gas, right up my nose hairs, makin’ me feel like I was back in Middle Earth, hopin’ for the daylight.  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _see_ , and next thing I know, there’s a fuckin’ hole in my chest, and she’s packaging up my lung.  _Should I send it in the mail, Wilson, or swing by your place, give your beau a right fright?_ Told her I’d string her up by her thumbnails.  Or, at least, tried to—cos, hey, that’s one of my favorite punishments, spidey, and Filch got the short end of the stick—but there was the baby lung, malformed and malfunctioning and mal _icious_ , so I done followed her home.  Was runnin’ a little behind, that’s why she got inside before I could get inside her, if ya know what I mean,” he pauses to wiggle his eyebrows, and Peter pinches him.  “Ow!” Wade whines, though he just pulls Peter closer, wrinkles his nose, and says, “Honey Pooh bear, I love you like a rhino loves ass gurglin’, but you stink.”

 

“Battle stench,” Peter agrees, and untangles from Wade, sitting up and stretching, “Wanna join me?  Probably do you some good.”

 

“Probably,” Wade agrees, and though he absolutely loathes admitting it, “Gonna need some help, though.”  Peter looks confused, so Wade says, “Cancer’s a bitch, spidey, and it’s movin’ fast.  Hurts to move too much.”

 

Peter just nods quickly and gets out of bed, coming around to help Wade off, as well.  Between the two of them—and one brief second of Cho when Wade tosses the heart monitor onto the bed—they managed to get cleaned up only to find themselves on the bathroom floor, Wade naked and shaking, bent over the toilet and heaving up nothing but bile.

 

During a reprieve, he sags, boneless, against the toilet and looks blearily over at Peter.  “I didn’t want you to see this,” he mumbles.

 

Peter rolls his eyes and flicks him.  “I’m not just here for the good times,” he says.

 

“That’s a dumb idea.”

 

“Kind of why people get married.”

 

“Dude, how fuckin’ crazy is that?  We’re _married_ ,” Wade says, “Ain’t never thought I’d be hitched up.  Or you, for Pete’s sake.  _Oh my god_.”

 

“Wade,” Peter groans.

 

“You’re a fuckin’ saint, spidey.”

 

“Peter?” Tony’s voice echoes into the room before he can respond.

 

“Stay here,” Peter says.  Wade tries to laugh at him and ends up puking again.  Peter pulls on a pair of SHIELD sweats he brought into the bathroom with him and steps out, pulling the door almost shut.  “Hi,” he says when he sees Tony, “What’s up?”

 

“We’re sitting to discuss how best to approach this with Loki,” he says, “Everything okay?”

 

“Hardly,” Peter says, “But it will be.  Gimme a second, okay?”

 

Tony nods, and leaves again, so Peter goes back to Wade, who thinks he’s done, so Peter helps him up and into his SHIELD clothes, which Wade grumbles about.  “I’ll swing by the apartment, grab something from there.”

 

“And Flo,” Wade says, wincing as Peter helps him back into bed.

 

“Sure, and Flo,” Peter agrees, dropping a kiss on his forehead and making sure he’s settled before he leaves.  He tugs on a sweatshirt on his way out where Tony’s still waiting in the hall.

 

“How is he?” he asks as they walk together.

 

“Awful,” Peter says, “And getting worse.  We need to convince Loki to lift whatever spell he cast.”

 

“We’re going to try,” Tony says, “We’ll do everything we can.”

 

“Trying isn’t good enough,” Peter says, and punches the elevator button with his thumb, “He has to.”

 

“Peter—”

 

“I’ll fucking kill him if he doesn’t,” Peter snaps, and Tony has no response to that.

 

——

 

It goes about as well as Peter is expecting.  Loki laughs at them.

 

Peter shrugs it off the first time, but then he just starts ignoring Thor, who’s trying to convince him to lift the spell, and Peter almost makes it inside the room before they manage to stop him, hauling him bodily away from the door.  He starts shouting, barely even registers what he’s saying, just doing everything he can to get at him, until Steve grabs him by the shoulders and digs his heels in, and really, Peter’s no match for him, particularly when he’s overtired and _scared_.

 

“Calm down,” Steve says firmly, “Deep breath.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“I get it,” he says over him, “But this is no way to make it happen.  Why don’t you go back to Wade for a bit?”

 

Instead, Peter goes home.

 

He calls Johnny on his way, if only to keep his mind in one piece while he webs through the city.  “Hey,” Johnny answers after several rings, “How is everything?”

 

“He fucking laughed at us,” Peter says.

 

“Jesus,” Johnny says, “Is there anything I can do?  Do you need anything?”

 

Peter almost misses his mark for his next web, and then he’s asking, “Everyone okay on your end?”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny takes the bait, “Reed’s a little fucked up, keeps losing control of his limbs, looks like one of those Gumby toys half the time, but he’s getting better.”

 

“Remember that time you glued his hand to the ceiling while he was sleeping?”

 

“Dude, the recoil on that thing was _amazing_.”

 

“I’m almost home.”

 

Johnny sighs.  “Want me to come over?”

 

Peter almost says yes, but he wants to get back to the compound, so instead he says, “I’m just gonna pick up some clothes and Florence, it’s fine.”

 

“Well, you can’t web with Florence, she’s probably in a right state after all of this, so I’ll swing by with the truck, we’ll get some food, and then go back to the compound.”

 

Peter stumbles when he drops onto their roof, trying to swallow it down.  “Okay,” he whispers.

 

“Chin up, buttercup,” Johnny says, and it sounds so much like Wade that Peter has to hang up, or he’s going to scream.  Instead, he drops into a squat and hooks his arms around his head, burying his face in his thighs as something close to a sob rips through him.

 

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, and then he’s wiping his face and heading inside.  Florence has nearly destroyed the place.  There’s litter scattered all around her box, her food and water have been flipped over, and one of the curtains has been ripped clean off; there are books thrown onto the ground, a pan in the sink, and their sheets are hanging off of the loft.  “Florence, what the hell?” Peter says as he looks around, “You little devil.”

 

There’s a great, screeching meow, and then she comes sprinting out from one of the rooms below the loft and all but crashes into his legs.  “Sweetheart,” he coos, bending to pick her up.  She burrows against him, claws sinking in through the sweatshirt to hook into his chest, and head darting beneath one of his hands to hide.  “I’m so sorry I left you,” he whispers, kissing the back of her neck, “I promise you’re coming with me this time, though.”

 

Peter tries to set her on his shoulder, but she’s having none of that, so he wedges her into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, which seems much more ideal, if her sudden purring is any indication, and that’s where she stays.  He transfers her only when he’s changed into a different shirt and sweatshirt, though this one is a zip-up, and she’s a little too big for the side pocket, but she refuses to leave.

 

Peter’s cleaned up most of her messes and filled a backpack before there’s a knock on the door preceding Johnny letting himself in.  “So, food,” he says eight minutes later while he’s holding the litter box and a small bag of food.

 

Peter smiles at him, one hand tucked into his pocket to hang onto Florence and the other clutching the strap of his backpack.  “Somewhere fast,” he says, “I want to get back.”

 

“We’ll get it to go.  Think Wade’s hungry?”

 

“He’s been throwing up a lot, so probably not,” Peter says even as he digs out his phone, “But I’ll check.”

 

Peter’s managed to avoid Taco Bell for the better part of five years by making homemade tacos that Wade swears by, but when he texts him and asks if he’s hungry, his response is clear, _TACOS OR DEATH, SPIDEY._

“God, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Taco Bell,” Peter says, and Johnny laughs loudly.  Even five years later, Peter still remembers what Wade likes, and they’re making their way back through Manhattan amid a sheer mass of detours.  Peter only realizes after about twenty minutes that they’ve taken a wrong turn.  “Where are you going?” he asks.

 

“Hell’s Kitchen,” Johnny says, “Sorry, special request.”

 

“From _who_?”

 

“Wade, actually,” Johnny says, “Sent me a message while you were busy ordering the entire Taco Bell menu.”

 

“Dude, I’m hungry, too,” Peter whines.

 

“Goddamn superhero metabolism,” Johnny agrees.

 

Peter scoots over to press against Johnny when they stop again, waiting until Matt’s exiting the lobby of his building before he opens the passenger door.  “Afternoon, Peter.  Thank you for coming by, Johnny.”

 

“Anytime, man,” Johnny says, and drives off.

 

“How is he?” Matt asks.

 

Peter shrugs.  “Pretty bad this morning, but I’ve been away all day.  We sat with Loki for a bit, who’s an actual piece of garbage, and then I swung by the apartment to get Florence and some clothes.”

 

“Ah, I thought that was her,” Matt says, and smiles when Peter pulls Florence from his pocket.  She tries to scurry back into hiding, but Peter nudges her across his lap to Matt, and she settles when she sniffs his hand and recognizes him.

 

The detours continue to be awful, and it takes them nearly an hour before they’re finally back at the compound.  “Johnny,” Matt says as they’re getting out, “Would you be so kind as to help me find Captain Rogers?  Peter, give Wade my best.  I’ll be by soon.”

 

“Cheerio,” Johnny says, tipping an invisible hat Peter’s way before he holds out an arm, waiting for Matt to take it before they part ways.

 

Peter throws on his backpack, puts Florence on his shoulder, and carries her litter box with him through the compound.  He’s halfway there when he crosses paths with Tony.  “Hey,” he says, coming to a halt.  Bruce is next to him, not paying attention, and there’s quite nearly a collision.  “You’re back.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, and tries to continue on.

 

“You brought a cat,” Tony says, “Gross.”

 

“Shut up, you’re totally a cat person,” Peter calls over his shoulder.

 

To his dismay, Tony follows, and Bruce makes a begrudging noise before doing so, as well.  “I didn’t even know you had a cat,” Tony continues.

 

“For three whole years,” Peter says, “Our therapist told us to get a plant, so Wade shipped me a kitten while he was away.  First time it wasn’t a body part in the mail.”

 

“Peter—”

 

“God, now I’m thinking about the lung, fuck.  Ah, nope, sorry,” Peter says when they try to follow him into Wade’s room.

 

“We just wanted—” Bruce tries.

 

“I don’t care,” Peter says, “You’ve never been anything but cruel to him, the lot of you, and you’re not going to make up for it now just because he’s hurt.”

 

“Then why even bother staying?” Tony snarls, and Peter knows it’s not meant to hurt him, just that Tony’s hurt by his behavior.

 

“We can leave, if that’s the case,” Peter says, “But you once tried to have him put away, and Cap only sided with us because he made a good point about the rest of the mutants out there.  I appreciate your help, Tony, but he’s certainly not going to appreciate the pity party you’re trying to throw.  Excuse me.”  He steps into the room before either of them can respond, and frowns when he sees the bathroom door open and Wade not in bed.

 

He sets the box down, shrugs off his backpack, and raps his knuckles on the doorway before he steps inside.  Wade’s sitting with his back against the wall, legs kicked out in front of him.  Before Peter can speak, however, Florence lets out a wild yell and claws her way down him, running over to Wade.  “Hey sweetness,” Wade says softly, lifting a hand to pet her even as she climbs up his front.  Peter frowns when he winces, but then she’s settling along his slumped shoulders, tail curling around his neck, and licking his jaw.

 

“Doctor Cho’s gonna murder you if you keep flat lining,” Peter says even as he drops down next to him.

 

“Got me mobile, spidey,” Wade says, wiggling his left hand at him, which has a heart monitor clipped onto his finger.  There’s an oxygen tank to his right, and a cannula tucked under his nose.

 

“Been better?” Peter asks.

 

“Been worse,” Wade says, “You got food?  I’m starvin’ Marvin’, gimme the tacos.”

 

“Weren’t you just throwing up?” Peter asks, his frown deepening.

 

“Aw, spidey, that was ages ago,” Wade says, and Peter quickly grabs him when he starts to lilt to the side.

 

“What’s going on?” Peter says, fear starting to trickle through him as he gets Wade centered again and scoots closer to him so he has something to lean on.

 

“I couldn’t get up,” Wade whispers, and it breaks whatever stronghold Peter’s wrapped his heart in.

 

“Oh, Wade,” he sighs, drawing him close, arms wrapping around him as Wade’s head drops onto his shoulder.  He presses a firm kiss to his unscarred head, marveling at how very different that feels, and then asks, “How long have you been in here?”

 

“Just an hour,” he mumbles into Peter’s shoulder, “I knew you’d be back eventually.”

 

“Well,” Peter says, kissing him again, “I brought tacos, words, and tea.”

 

“You should have said tacos, sex, and an energy drink.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Peter says before he helps Wade away, and then it’s just a matter of getting him onto legs that aren’t cooperating.  It’s awful, having to half drag half carry him out, but eventually, they make it back to the bed, and Wade is struggling to breathe.

 

Though the breathing eventually gets better, the pain doesn’t, and they’ve barely settled into their food when Wade starts swearing and Peter bursts out into the hall, yelling for help.  Forty minutes later, Wade won’t even look at him when Doctor Cho leaves.

 

“Wade,” Peter tries.

 

“Just— _don’t_ ,” he says, his voice cracking.

 

Peter sits on the edge of the bed, taking his hand and winding their fingers together.  He kisses his knuckles when Wade closes his eyes, and presses love into his skin.  “I don’t care,” Peter says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“You didn’t sign up for this,” Wade says, eyes still closed, “Hitched to someone with a fucking catheter and a failing fucking liver.  I can’t even— _fuck_ , I know that you’re wearing my sweatshirt, but I can’t fucking see that it’s red.”  Peter looks up at him, finds him staring down at him, his face twisted into something that looks like loathing, “I can’t breathe for a fucking second without this thing, and my ass is on fucking fire.  I’m _dying_ , Peter.  Why can’t you see that?”

 

Peter holds his gaze for another moment before he throws Wade’s hand back on the bed and gets up.  He’s halfway to the door when Wade says, “Where the fuck are you going?”

 

“To beat the shit out of a demigod,” Peter spits, and the door slams behind him.

 

“Peter!” he hears Wade yell after him, and pretends he doesn’t also hear the resulting coughing fit.

 

Peter gets farther than he expects to.  They’ve changed guards since this morning, and thus, he manages to slip past them unnoticed, twitches a few wires until he can hack right through Tony’s alarm system, and steps inside the room they’re keeping him in.

 

“Oh, is it time for another round of sad, brotherly conversations?” Loki says, and sits up.  He blinks, once, but Peter still sees that he’s confused by him not being Thor.  “I don’t know you,” Loki says.  Peter doesn’t respond, just stands there, gaze quickly darting around the room, taking in his surroundings.  “Are you a mutant?” he asks, “Have you come to plead for your life?  I admit, I’m surprised that they let you in here.”  Still, he doesn’t respond.  He’s going to have a limited window now that he’s in here, and he doesn’t need his voice carrying through the comms to alert anyone sooner.

 

“Ah,” Loki says, standing, “They didn’t, did they?  How interesting.  And what bargaining chip have you come to apply, little mutant?”

 

Peter waits until he steps forward, and then he shoots two webs, one at his shoulder and the other at the corner of the room.  Loki clearly isn’t expecting this kind of attack, and Peter’s in the air before he reacts.  He grabs at the web, trying to dislodge it from his shoulder, but Peter crashes against the opposite wall, flipping Loki over with him.

 

He remembers Gwen crashing through the clock tower, Uncle Ben hitting the pavement, and this pain latching itself to every nerve ending in his body right now, the possibility of losing yet another person.  He moves without thinking, darting around the room faster than Loki can follow, which really shouldn’t be possible, but Peter has tipped past caution and into recklessness, and he counts that as why he ends up standing across from a cocooned demigod.

 

“Ah,” Loki says again, “I see now.”

 

“Whatever you did, reverse it,” Peter says, “Now.”

 

“You think you have such power over me?  Simply because you love one of those affected?” Loki says, a laugh tainting the edges of his voice, “You think this feeble attempt will hinder me?”  Loki makes to snap out of the web and finds he cannot.

 

“Do you think they’re idiots?” Peter says, folding his arms across his chest, “Tony’s been working on this room since the last time you escaped.  You can pretend you meant to end up here all along, but you certainly aren’t leaving.  Seems to me like it’s working, too.  Seems to me like your powers are diminished.”

 

“You dare—”

 

“Sorry, gonna stop you there,” Peter cuts across him, “That’s not how this works.  You give me what I want, and I’ll consider convincing Wade not to put you through a fucking meat grinder.”

 

“And if I don’t?” Loki asks.

 

“I’m not above doing it myself at this point.”

 

Loki smiles, this awful thing that stretches his face.  “Let’s wait and see what happens, then, shall we?”

 

On any other Wednesday, Peter might have walked away.  He might have gone back to Wade, curled up with him and Florence, and spent the rest of his day holding him together.  The only reason he needs to do any of those things, though, is because of Loki, and so, he breaks his face.

 

When Tony finally breaks Steve in, a few of Peter’s knuckles have split open, and he’s dangerously close to some kind of breakdown.  “Peter!” Steve yells as Peter fights him, tries to get back at Loki, who is spitting blood onto the floor, still grinning.

 

He drags Peter out, who puts up enough of a fight that Steve actually throws him through the door, knocking him back down when he tries to get up and dart past.  “What did I tell you earlier?” Steve shouts.

 

“That _lunatic_ —”

 

“Tony, remove his access from this area,” Steve says, “He can’t be trusted.”

 

“ _I_ can’t be trusted?” Peter shrieks, “Half of New York’s mutant population is either dead or dying, and my fucking _husband_ is one of them!”

 

“And you should be taking care of him while we deal with this!” Steve says, pointing in the direction of the door.

 

“What, cos I’m some fucking damsel in distress?” Peter roars, getting to his feet, “That’s _bullshit_ , Cap.  I’m not going to sit around with my thumbs planted firmly up my ass, twiddle-de-doo, waiting for the rest of you to come to a decision.  This is my _life_ hanging by a wire, Steve.  My— _everything_.  I have nothing left without him.”

 

“Peter,” Steve says sadly.

  
“What?  An empty apartment and a cat?  Is that my fucking consolation prize?” Peter says, and he can’t stop it now, he can’t, it’s going to _drown him_.  He breaks a fraction, hot tears welling in his eyes as he goes on, “Wake up every morning and go work for a company who _hates_ my fucking guts?  Come home and make dinner for myself?  _Home_?  I can’t— _live there_ without him.  The whole reason we live there is because of him.  My life is the way it is because of him.  You can call it codependency or whatever the fuck you want, but I’ve spent the last eight _years_ , Steve, loving him, and I’m not giving that up without a fucking _war_.  I _can’t_.  Great, awesome, I’ve got friends, and they’ll help me through it, and I’ll move on, whatever fucking platitude you want to throw at me, but I won’t.  I won’t do it.  Not again.  Not him.  Not— _fuck_.”

 

Peter drops his gaze, shoulders hitching up toward his ears as it consumes him.  “Don’t touch me,” he whispers when Steve tries to console him, and then he can’t stand it anymore, can’t bear thinking that they’re running out of time and the person responsible is still sitting there laughing at them.  Peter skirts around Steve and back out into the compound, makes it as far as the med bay, and has to sit down, folding in on himself as he cries.

 

Wade finds him like this.

 

Peter has no idea how he even manages to get out of bed, but then he’s crashing down next to him and wrapping them together.  “Wade, you shouldn’t—”

 

“Shut up, I make the rules now,” Wade says, and kisses him softly.  When he pulls away, Peter watches pain flash across his face, but then Wade’s lifting his mouth to kiss his temple before he drops his head to Peter’s shoulder, and Peter just gives up, leaning his head on top of Wade’s and crying quietly.  “I’m sorry,” Wade whispers at some point, one hand clutched in the fabric of Peter’s shirt, and Peter can’t make himself do anything but cry harder, so he just clings to him, like if he holds on tight enough, he won’t fade away.

 

Wade’s unconscious within the hour.

 

——

 

It’s 3:37AM when Peter’s woken by the sound of several alarms going off.  He comes to slowly, looking around in confusion, until Wade jerks, once, and Peter scrambles off the bed, gaze snapping up as the door swings open.  “Peter, out of the way,” Cho says even as she runs for Wade, who is staring unseeing while he gasps for air.

 

Peter backpedals, giving her room, and somehow, in the mess of people and shouting, he ends up in the hallway standing next to Bruce.  “What happened?” he asks.

 

“I don’t know,” Peter says, “I was asleep.  I thought he was, too.  Why are you down here?”

 

“Doctor Cho asked me to assist with a few of the mutants.  We lost two this morning.”

 

“Jesus,” Peter exhales, “Did you know them?”

 

“Before this?  No.  They were—”

 

The door crashes open again, and Cho’s shout floats out, “I’m losing him!”

 

Peter starts forward, but Bruce grabs him, holds him back.  “Peter,” he says, “Please.  Let them work.”  Peter just nods, waiting.

 

Silence begins to fall.

 

“Bruce, I can’t do this,” Peter says, though he doesn’t try to go back inside, “We have to do _something_.”

 

“Steve’s in there with him right now,” Bruce says, “We’re trying, Peter.  He just—he doesn’t _care_.”

 

“I can’t watch him die,” Peter says, and it sounds like he’s trying to say something else, so he twists out of Bruce’s grasp and plunges back into the fray.

 

“Peter,” Doctor Cho says when she spots him, “He’s stable.  Thank you,” she adds at the nurses that leave.  She waits until the room is empty before she says, “We need to talk.”

 

“Is something wrong?” Peter asks, glancing at Wade.

 

“This was no accident,” she says, and she sounds angry, “He did this to himself.”

 

“Did _what_?”

 

“Rigged his morphine to a fatal level, and if that wasn’t enough, he pulled the plug on his oxygen.”

  
Peter looks over at Wade, disbelief on his face.  “Why would he do that?” he whispers, though he thinks he knows the answer.

 

“He’s lucky to be alive right now,” Cho says, “Though this stunt may have cost him.  I’ll review his vitals in the morning, but I’m stationing someone in here tonight to watch him.”

 

Peter just nods, mute.  Only when she’s gone and an armed guard has stepped in does Peter move, going over to the bed and pausing at the edge.  He wants to shake him, wants to yell at him for trying to leave him, wants to—“Wade?”  His eyes are open.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, “Someone in here with you?”

 

“Yes,” Peter says unsurely, “What the fuck?”

 

“Take ‘em out.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I’m escapin’, spidey,” Wade says, and there’s a smile there that Peter hasn’t seen in what feels like years, “Done fixed me a ticket to Deadpoolville, but I need outta here, ya hear?  Come on, take care of that fool, and we’ll be on our way to sexy times in no times.”

 

“Alright, no,” Peter says, “You just—”

 

“Offed myself, yeah,” Wade says, still grinning, “All part of the grand scheme, itsy bitsy.  Come _on_ , help the invalid out.  Do away with the guard, and I don’t even care if keep him alive, spidey, I just need him preoccupied.  Now look, that don’t mean no blowjobs, a’ight?  Spin him ‘round a couple o’ times, get me some wheelies, and we’ll be on our way.”

 

“To where, exactly?” Peter asks, glaring at him.

 

“To the trickster, spidey,” Wade says, rolling his eyes, “Jeeznus, keep up with the times.  Listen, he’s gonna start thinkin’ you’ve gone loopy, just starin’ at me.  You gone help me out or not?”

 

“What am I helping you do exactly?” Peter hisses.

 

“I’ve had it up to my nose hairs with this cancer bullshit,” Wade says, “I told you, I got a plan.”

 

Peter sighs loudly, grits his teeth, says, “Better be a fucking good one,” and turns on the spot, shooting a web.  It catches the guard in the face, covering nose and mouth, and then Peter’s jumping for the ceiling, crawling across and landing on his shoulders as he reaches up to try to get the web off.  When he sees Peter, he reaches for his gun, but Peter makes short work of that, snapping it in two before he knocks him out with the butt of it.

 

“Ayyy!” Wade says, his grin widening before he starts to push up off the bed, “Nice work, Petey pie.  Next up: wheelies.”

 

“Or,” Peter says, pointing at him, “A wheelchair, you psycho.”

 

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Wade grumbles, but doesn’t try to stop him from leaving.

 

He nearly runs into Bruce, but darts into a spare room and waits for him to pass.  He’s about to leave when he notices a wheelchair locked into the wall, and really, they must think they’re children down here.  Even so, he snaps the chain clean off and hoists the wheelchair into his arms, knowing it’ll be faster to run carrying it than with it.

 

Back in Wade’s room, he’s forced to swallow the urge to yell at Wade when he finds him half out of bed.  “Seriously, you need to take a chill pill,” he says, setting the wheelchair down and coming over.

 

“This is gonna be messy,” Wade says, and nearly falls out of bed.

 

Peter lunges forward, catching him, and then the heart monitor starts kicking up.  “Stop it,” Peter snaps at him.  Wade narrows his eyes, but doesn’t speak, instead works on getting his heart under control while Peter helps him into the wheelchair.  “Okay,” Peter says when all is well again, “Now what?”

 

“Loki.”

 

“Wade—”

 

“Peter, you have to trust me.”

 

“Couple of years ago, I would have laughed at you,” Peter says and heads for the door.

 

Navigating through the halls of the med bay without getting caught is a feat worthy of a fucking medal.  When they finally emerge in the compound, Peter lets out a breath he’s been holding for three hallways and sags against the wheelchair, dropping his arms around Wade’s front.  “Uh, _yeah_ ,” Wade agrees, and turns his head to kiss Peter’s jaw, “Holy shit, try doing that while not freaking your fuckin’ broken heart out.”

 

“Only gonna get worse,” Peter mutters before he leans forward, smiling before he kisses Wade.  “Ready?”

 

“Let’sa go!”

 

Peter laughs softly and starts them off again, careening through the halls at top speed and almost getting caught twice.  By the time they’re nearing the area where Loki’s being held, Peter is starting to get suspicious.  And then, his prints work, and he’s allowed into the area Steve asked Tony to restrict.  “Okay, what the fuck,” he says, straightening up and looking around for the nearest camera, “Care to explain?”

 

“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voice down,” Jarvis says softly, “Mister Stark has asked that we do not wake the other Avengers.”

 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Wade says delightedly, “We’re like fuckin’ ninjas over here.”

 

“Never thought I’d see this day,” Peter says, and pushes Wade forward.

 

Tony does them one better and unlocks Loki’s cell before Peter has a chance to start finagling with the wires again.  “That works,” he says, shrugging, “Are you—Wade!  What the hell?”

 

“I’m not facin’ this shit for brains in a fuckin’ wheelchair,” he says, grimacing as he grips the arms and forces himself upright by sheer will alone.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Peter says, and ducks under one of his arms, helping him up, “You’ve got me.”  Wade looks over at him, and Peter nods once, smiling.  “Gone are the days of begging, the days of theft.”

 

Wade’s mouth splits into a trembling smile.  “No more gasping for a breath,” he says, and turns his gaze toward the door as it slides open.

 

Peter uses it like a marching tune as they walk through together, “The air has filled me head to toe, and I can see the ground far below.  I have this breath, and I hold it tight, and I keep it in my chest with all my might.”

 

“I pray to Death this breath will last.  Get the fuck up.”

 

Loki slowly rises, rolling first onto his back and then swinging his legs around, straightening up to his full height as he takes in this new sight.  “Back again,” he says to Peter, “Is this your mutant friend you’re so sad to lose?”

 

“Nah, I’m not a fan of this,” Wade says, and then he’s using Peter to push himself upright, and though Peter wants to hold onto him and keep him steady, Wade swallows past the pain threatening to throw him under and maintains his balance.  “So listen, asswipe, I’m the talkative one in this relationship.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says, sneering, “Is that—”

 

“Did I say you could fuckin’ open that trap of yours?  I’m not comin’ in here beggin’ for my life, if that’s what you’re expecting, twat waffle.  This ain’t some pity party show.  This sorry ass life don’t mean nothin’ to me.  Jack shit.  I don’t give a fuck if I’m breathing or fucking coughing up dirt.  But you hurt my spidey, and I’ma do you ugly for that, you son of a pigeon farmer.”

 

Peter bites back a grin, watching him.

 

“What could you possibly threaten me with?” Loki says, unimpressed, “You can barely stand.”

  
“Right, and I just fuckin’ killed myself to holler at my girl.”  This, Peter notices, gives Loki pause.  “Oh, what?  Nothin’ new to spew at that?  Guess fucking what, you pissed in the wrong bucket.  You can go right ahead and send me off to the underworld, capital H double hockey sticks, but I’m comin’ back for you, motherfucker.  And if that don’t happen in time, She’ll be waiting for you.  I ain’t foolin’ around no more, Laughyass.”

 

“It is _Laufeyson_ , you—”

 

“You either lift this fuckass spell, or I’ll pass on the message to Death.”

 

Loki lets out a startling laugh.  “Such a goddess would not bow to the likes of you,” he says.

 

“No?” Wade says, and Peter watches in slow motion as he lifts his left hand, which is dripping blood between his fingers due to the warped piece of metal there, and rip it across his forearm.

 

He doesn’t have time to react before the walls are shaking violently, and Peter looks around in alarm, expecting, wildly, for this tale of Wade’s to be true, and for Death herself to rise up from Hell to claim her prize.

 

“I am not ready to die!” Loki yells over the building noise, “I will lift the spell!”

 

“Better make it quick,” Wade says, his mouth twisting into an ugly smile that doesn’t hide the agony he’s in.

 

“I can’t in this room,” Loki pleads.

 

“He’s telling the truth,” Peter says, “Wade, we have to—”

 

“Get out, then!” Wade roars even as he reaches out.  Peter darts forward, catching him as he starts to fall.  Wade’s hand grips Peter’s shoulder, turning him, and Peter goes, hurrying back toward the door, which he kicks open.  Loki is quick behind them, and he starts chanting as soon as he’s through, fingers twisting together.

 

Thor and Tony burst through one of the doors, Steve coming in through another, Nat behind him, and for as much as they’ve all suffered at his hands, it ends in the length of a breath.

 

Wade’s scream shatters around them, and Peter can’t keep him up as he crashes to the ground.  He starts to move for him, but his body is seizing, skin ripping apart and blistering open as Loki watches on anxiously, hands held out at his hands, fingers spread wide.  Wade’s back slams into the ground, head knocking hard enough against the ground that Peter starts forward again.  And then, it’s over.

 

“Wade?” Peter asks anxiously.

 

He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, and what bare skin Peter can see looks raw and angry.

 

“The rest should be well again,” Loki says, beginning to back up.

 

It’s as though his voice is a catalyst.  Wade’s eyes snap open, and they’re darker than Peter’s ever seen, haunted almost.  His fingers open and clench into fists, curling around the jagged piece of metal.  Peter understands suddenly what’s coming, and roots himself to the spot, refusing to stop it.

 

Wade inhales, jumps to his feet, spins, and slices a wicked gash across Loki’s chest, other hand whipping forward to plunge past skin, muscle, and bone, fingers snapping apart under the pressure and melding back together even as he finds his heart and yanks, elbow snapping against his ribs on the way back, and his exhale is loud in the silence that follows.

 

“Give Death my best,” Wade says, and lifts the heart to his mouth, tearing out a large chunk with his teeth.

 

Peter forces himself to watch, needs to believe that his Wade is back, and then he turns, and Peter can’t stop himself from saying, “I’m not kissing you like that.”

 

Wade bursts out laughing, gaping at him.  “Holy _shit_ , I love you,” he gasps.

 

The silence breaks.  Thor lunges through the air, Peter starts webbing wildly even as he runs in front of Wade, Tony shouts for Jarvis to electrify the space between them, and Steve bellows Thor’s name.

 

“And somehow,” Wade says, winking, “we don’t die.”

 

——

 

“Wait, you _ate_ his _heart_?”

 

Johnny reaches into the circle they’ve formed, grabbing a piece of sushi with his bare fingers.  “Savage,” Wade accuses, using his chopsticks.

 

“It was very Khal Drogo,” Peter says.

 

“For shame!” Wade yells, and tries to stab him with a chopstick.

 

“Listen, _khaleesi_!” Peter yelps, rolling away from him.

 

Wade follows him, wedging a leg between Peter’s and kissing him lightning quick.  “Gross, no PDA,” Matt says, and that just launches Wade into space.

 

He doesn’t lift off of Peter as he starts to regale Matt on the history of PDA, dating back to the 1800s when Washington first took out his wooden teeth for a lass, but Peter relishes in the warmth and weight of him.  He takes the opportunity to loop an arm around him, hand drifting into the back pocket of his jeans.  He reaches up with the other to snag a piece of sushi, and Wade kisses him in between bites.

 

They’re outside on the lawn next to the compound, sharing a _massive_ amount of sushi that Johnny and Matt spent several long minutes fussing over before they ordered.  It’s Saturday, which Wade keeps reminding them was his predicted death day, and Peter imagines that they’ll be hearing about this for several years to come.  He could care less, though, is content to just lie here with Wade nearby, alive and back to sassing them all.

 

“Hey,” he says softly.

 

Wade breaks off mid-rant to look down at him, and Johnny whistles while Matt starts laughing.  “Boy, you’re whipped,” Johnny says around a grin.

 

“Favor?” Peter asks.

 

“For you, my sun and starts, anythin’ that’s not appropriate.”

 

“Don’t almost die again?”

 

“On one condition,” Wade says, and leans down to kiss him, soft and slow and full of everything Peter was so afraid to lose, “Road trip to Disney.”

 

Peter blinks at him.  “What?” he says.

 

“I’ve had enough of this state for a lifetime, spidey.  Let’s get outta here for a couple o’ days.”

 

“Half the time, you’re not even in this state,” Peter reminds him.

 

“Not with you, cutie tush.  Vacationland.  You, me, a stolen car and a few freaks in costumes.”

 

“Sounds like a kinky fantasy,” Johnny says, and Wade rolls off of Peter to yank a handful of grass up and throw it at him.

 

Peter scoots over close to Wade, leaning their shoulders together as they waste away the rest of their afternoon doing absolutely nothing.

 

——

 

Wade wasn’t fibbing about wanting to road trip to Disney.  The next day, after Cho has confirmed him fit for release, they go home, linger in the lobby to talk to Daniel and promise that they’re okay, avoid their neighbors, and then, finally, Peter relaxes.  Wade celebrates this feat by putting on his _favorite Disney princess in all the land, spidey_ , which turns out to be the live action _Maleficent_.  When Peter tries to point out she’s a villain, and not a princess, they have to pause the movie for forty minutes.

 

And then, just as they’re about to continue the movie, Peter checks his phone and finds he has four missed calls and two voicemails that weren’t there when they started the movie.  “Hang on,” he says, and sits up as he frowns at his phone.  They’re all from Jameson.

 

“ _Parker_!” is how the first one starts, and Peter jumps at the sheer volume of it.  One of Wade’s hands slips up under his shirt, rubbing against his back as the message continues, “Where the _fuck_ have you been?  I don’t care if Manhattan is going up in flames, you think a full fucking _week_ without coming into work is acceptable?  Boy, you better have a good fucking reason!”

 

Wade’s hand is warm and solid against his back, and it makes it difficult for Peter to really justify being angry at the message.  That is, of course, until he listens to the second one, “Holy shit, you’re fired, _Spiderman_.”

 

Peter drops his phone.

 

“Peter?”

 

“I’m dead,” Peter says, and scrambles off the bed, walking quickly over to the edge of the loft.

 

“Peter,” Wade says, making to follow, but Peter turns around, pacing back toward him.

 

“Listen to that,” he says, pointing frantically at his phone.

 

Wade gives him a strange look, but does as asked, and his only reaction is the faint memory of his eyebrows shooting up toward his bald head.  “Huh,” he says, “That’s—interesting.”

 

“Interesting?” Peter squeaks, “How the fuck does he know that?”

 

“I dunno, it’s probably—here.”  Wade grabs the remote, flips out of their movie, and switches to the news, which is covering the recent attack.

 

“We’ve received confirmation that all affected mutants have been given the opportunity to live another day—”

 

“That’s corny,” Wade mutters.

 

“A representative from the Avengers compound also confirmed the detainment of Loki of Asgard, though many are wondering if anything differently will be done this time, as it is clear that his previous sentence was not carried through successfully.  Amy is with the Avengers liaison now.”

 

Peter groans loudly, so Wade switches the channel, but every station they land on is covering the same thing—Loki.  “This isn’t happening,” Peter says, and disappears over the edge of the loft.

 

“Spidey!” Wade calls after him, “Should I be following?”

 

There’s a long pause, and then, “Oh my _fuck_!”

 

Wade hastens to join him, dislodging a sleeping Florence when he bounces off the bed, who meows sleepily at him, but he’s already jumping down to the first floor and jogging into Peter’s office beneath the loft.  “What?” he says, watching Peter pace in a small circle, hands fisted in his hair.

 

Peter points helplessly at his laptop, and Wade drops into the chair there, starting to search when he notices the picture pulled up.

 

It’s of him, Peter, Johnny, and Matt, eating sushi outside of the compound, all in civvies.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Wade says.

 

Matt’s indiscernible from this angle, with his head in his arms.  Wade remembers this exact moment, Matt laughing as he’d rambled on about something, arms bracketed by Peter’s head.  Johnny is lying between them, reaching forward for sushi.

 

“You can’t even—”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Peter says loudly, and it sounds dangerous, “Keep scrolling.”

 

The caption beneath it reads, _Is Deadpool dating Spiderman?_ The picture below it is damning.  Wade’s back next to Matt, but Peter is sitting up, watching Johnny, who’s shooting little bursts of fire into the air.  He’d been shaking off the last remnants of Loki’s spell and was testing to make sure it was well and truly gone.  One of Peter’s hands is raised, middle and ring finger pressing down toward his wrist, a wicked grin on his face.  Two seconds later, Johnny had toppled over backward with a mouthful of webbing.  The caption beneath it reads, _Comment your theories below, but it looks like Spiderman’s secret identity is about to be uncovered!_

 

When Wade scrolls, he sees that image frozen in time, Johnny halfway to the ground, arms careening wildly, Peter positively cackling, and this tiny little smirk pulling up the corner of Wade’s mouth as he looks over at Peter fondly.  He knows Matt is rolling his eyes, but his face is hidden behind Wade.

 

“Okay,” Wade says, turning to face him.  It takes a superhuman amount of effort not to laugh at him.  Peter’s hair is sticking up wildly, hands hung limply by his sides, and he looks utterly defeated.  “Spidey—”

 

They’re interrupted by a loud banging at the door.  “Peter!” Johnny’s voice thunders through, “Dude, open up!  Why aren’t you answering your phone?  The internet is fucking blowing up!”

 

“Oh god,” Peter says, and drops to the floor in a squat, covering his face.

 

Wade frowns, but gets up, heading through the apartment to open the door.  Johnny crashes right into him, lets out a muffled shout, and jumps back, eyes wide.  “Sorry,” he says quickly, “Peter here?”

 

“Hiding,” Wade says, and opens the door.

 

Across the hall, Pru opens the door, gaping, and Wade is quick to shut theirs, wincing.  “Spidey,” Wade calls, “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

 

“Not that _bad_?” Peter exclaims, his voice getting a little shrill at the end.

 

Johnny glances at him, and Wade just nods, frowning.  They stand together, waiting, until Peter finally emerges, shoulders hiked up near his ears.  “Peter,” Wade tries.

 

“This is not fucking okay,” he says, storming over to the kitchen, “I’ve managed this long without anyone finding out, and Tony’s security is supposed to be _the best_ there is.  I don’t understand how this happened.”

 

“Dude,” Johnny says, coming over to hop onto one of the island stools, “It’s going to be fine.  Everyone knows I’m Human Torch, and it’s not—”

 

“Yes, it is,” Peter talks right over him, “You’re bombarded everywhere you go.  Half the time, you have to take crazy routes to go anywhere because people fucking follow you.  I have a normal job and a normal life, Johnny.  Now my neighbors are going to gawk at me in the halls, and it’s only a matter of time before they find out where I live, and—and I have—a _cat_ , and—Jesus, Wade, _you_.”

 

He looks over at Wade shyly, who sighs and sits down at the island next to Johnny.  “You don’t want the world to know Spiderman is bi?” he asks.

 

“What?  No,” Peter says, “No, that’s—I don’t care what Spiderman is.  Hell, that opens up a whole new avenue, and it gives hope to so many people, but you’ve been—Johnny, you have really bad timing,” Peter ends in a sigh.

 

“I can leave,” Johnny says quickly, already getting up.

 

“Make yourself useful, and make food,” Peter says, leaving the kitchen and coming around the island.

 

Johnny switches places with him, and Wade drops his head into a hand, looking over at Peter as he sits down, crossing his legs under him.  “Come here,” he says, reaching for him.  Wade doesn’t move other than to hold out his other hand, which Peter takes, curling both his hands around it and lifting it to his mouth, kissing his scarred knuckles.  “I don’t want to have to watch you leave the apartment with your hood up and your mask on and worry about if someone is taking pictures of you and—”

 

“Peter,” Wade says, lifting his head, “You’re— _what_?”

 

“I’m worried about you,” Peter says, not looking away from him, “This affects you, too.”

 

“Baby boy,” Wade says, grinning, “I’m all about the universe knowin’ Deadpool’s tappin’ _dat ass_.”

 

It works.  Peter breaks, laughing softly as he shakes his head.  “You’re a moron,” he mumbles.

 

Wade scoots off his stool and crowds Peter, arms winding around him as drops his temple to his shoulder.  There are a million things he wants to say, but settles for, “Thank you for loving me.”

 

Peter’s hold on him tightens, and Wade thinks that’s going to be it, they’re settling it here, when Peter says, “Always.”  He says it in such a way that Wade can hear that he’s asking for it, and he pulls back sharply, eyes narrowed.

 

“Nut uh!” he yells.  Johnny immediately starts laughing, and Wade’s off, “Spidey, _spidey_ , you gone come at me with that bullshit?  _Always_ , like you picked my dead body up off the ground and then tortured my dog gone son for half his life?  Man, that boy was livin’ under a staircase, and come over here, and he names his fuckin’ kid after that tosser, no _thanks_.  That shit’s messed up.  Albus Severus, please.  One raised him like a pig to slaughter, a’ight, I’ma agree with the snip snap Snape on that one, but then he’s over there bullyin’ this kid just cos James fuckin’ Potter grew out of his pig-headed asshole ways and treated Lily like a fuckin’ _queen_ , webhead, and you gone come at me and pretend you love me with that jib jab?”

 

“Devil’s advocate,” Johnny says, “He did love her.”

 

“Fuck _you_ , Storm, he did not!  He—”

 

“But he already named one of his children after his father, mother, and godfather.  What’s left?” Peter asks.

 

Wade flops back onto his stool, looking crestfallen.  “By the cheese!” he says loudly, “Who’da thunk it, spidey ain’t a Harry Potter nerd?  For shame, Pete Parkley, puttin’ all the nerdlies in misery with your wisecrackin’.  Coulda named him Remus, ay yup!  There’s a solid name for ya.  Alastor or Rubeus or _Minerva_ , for fuck’s sake, we ain’t livin’ in a world where we should be having a gender crisis _anyway_ , so name him after a cat, right?  _Florence_!”

 

There’s a feeble meow from the loft.

 

“Come on, kitty cat pussy boots, time for snuggles!  You know, I’m pitchin’ it to Ryan Reynolds, get him on the Garfield train, hear me out on this, change your name to Pete Parkley, and we’re all set, ain’t breaking no rights or whatever the laws are saying these days.  Yo, you heard about Tom Holland?  Nope!  Nope, I’ma get sued if I voice my vomits about that.  _Florence_!  Spidey, take it or leave it, but witchcraft.”

 

“We are the weirdos, mister,” Peter and Johnny say at the same time.

 

“Oh my _cheese_ ,” Wade says, looking between them reverently, “Some other universe, I’m tellin’ ya, we’d all be getting along.  So here I was, adventure in Salem, wonderin’ where all my witches at, come to find out most of that bullshit ain’t even happenin’ in Salem, so I had to pip pop on over to Danvers, borin’ as fuck, but I was walking on by, minding my own squirrely business, and here comes a thought, spidey and _yoga_.  That’s a living right there for you, pumpkin, you should jump on that nonsense now that you’re outta a job.  Hey, you think Jameson is still up his ass about that?  Up _his_ ass, Wilson?  Whatchu talkin’ about?  Oh, _Stan Shunpike_!  Remember that time he—”

 

“Move on from Harry Potter,” Peter says even as he gets up and crosses the apartment back into his office to grab his laptop.

 

“Fuckin’ alarm clock woke me up in the dead of night, EHR EHR EHR EHR EHR—”

 

“That was _at least_ three years ago,” Peter says, “Maybe more.”

 

“—EHR EHR EHR, blowin’ my brains against the wall, a big ole splat, and you know what, idea brains, what if you used brain matter instead of wax, betchu could make fun lookin’ candles for the holidays.  What month is it?  Wrong holiday, Wade Wilson.  _Oh_ , did I miss Saint Patty’s Day?  What a fuckin’ bummer.  Okay, so April Fool’s, gone shoot my brains against the wall, wait for a bit, wake back the fuck up, and make _candles_ , spidey, figure out that witchy dooda hocusy pocusy and get them floatin’.  Walk in on the lesbians, and say _boo_!  Wait shit, wrong holiday.  What’s next?”

 

“April Fool’s,” Johnny says.

 

“Spooky dooky dicky doo,” Wade says, nodding as though in agreement, “Storm, you makin’ anything good over there?”

 

“Define good?”

 

“We’ll see what happens,” Wade says, “Flo, don’t _piss in the fern_!”  Florence’s ears twitch from where she’s coming down the ladder, Peter raises an eyebrow, and Wade slaps an open palm against the marble.  “Petey, we need a fern!”

 

“Put it on a list.”

 

“Lists, lists are no fun, but ferns are made of love and spiky penises, or is that _you_ ,” he points a finger accusingly at Florence, “Nope, we ain’t got a transgender cat.  But how would you even know?  Mama had a fern once, hip hopped around it tryin’ to keep it alive, and I asked her why she wasn’t payin’ so much attention to me as she was the fern, and mama done said, _Wade, you little fucker, listen up, plants are good for somethin’, so hopefully this little feller will knock some sense into that mess of a muck-up mind of yours._ Said the fern would give me the right oxygen, and not the boxes oxygen, and— _shit, sorry_ ,” he sighs, “Now they’re goin’ smish smash smashie smush, green daddy style, bloodyin’ knuckles and snappin’ fern leaves left and right.  Mama done said ferns was gone help me get better, so I smashed it across her head.  You hit me once, I hit you back, you gave a kick, I gave a slap, you smashed a plate over my head, then I set fire to our bedddddd!  Spidey!”

 

Peter’s response comes quickly, but mumbled, “My black eye casts no shadow, your red eye sees no blame.”

 

“Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don’t fit!  A kick in the teeth is good for some!  I’ma kiss you with a fist if that ain’t— _spidey_.  The flamin’ man done made us tomato grilled cheese.”

 

“My hero,” Peter says, reaching with one hand to grab one as Johnny sets them down.

 

“Whatchu doin’, webhead?” Wade asks, leaning toward him.

 

“Beat it, working,” Peter says, waving his grilled cheese at him.

 

Wade huffs, but settles into his as Johnny sits opposite them.  “So ferns?” he asks.

 

“Fallopian tubes,” Peter butts in.

 

“Babies falling over, right,” Wade says, “You ever seen those videos, man?  Those are fuckin’ hilarious, almost as good as—no wait, they’re definitely not as good as old people falling over.  Man, give me a ten hour fuckin’ loop of an old haggard with his walkin’ stick snappin’ in half, ping pong and _smash_ , nose spurtin’ blood everywhere cos he ain’t smart enough to get a metal one, no siree, gotta use a wooden one.  Shoulda been like Gregory House MD IN THE HIZ HOUSE, flames up the side of his cane and tennis balls galore.  You ever seen a taxidermy duckling, spideywebs?”

 

“Oh my _no_ ,” Peter says, gaze snapping over to him, “Definitely a new avenue, literally any one.”

 

“Tarantulas?”

 

Peter shudders, making a face.

 

“Dude, seriously?” Johnny says, “That’s messed up.”

 

“They’re hairy!”

 

“Hairsy,” Wade corrects him, “They got more than one hair.  Spidey, whatchu doinnnnn’?”

 

He’s whining now, so Peter gives a little, “Road trip.”

 

“To _Disney_?”  Wade’s voice gets so high that Peter glances at him, and subsequently nearly chokes on his grilled cheese because of the face he’s making.  “We’re runnin’ away!” Wade shrieks, lifting a fist in the air.

 

“Hey, perfect segue way,” Johnny says, tapping the island, “I have one of those un-fun questions to ask.”

 

“Off to the gallows, Stormy McStormface goes,” Wade starts singing.

 

“Can I crash here for a little bit?”

 

Wade’s song keeps going, “Bitchin’ and moanin’ as they string him up, hullabaloo, hullabaloo, yo ho me hearties—”

 

“Something happen at yours?” Peter asks, pausing in his planning to give Johnny his attention.

 

Johnny grimaces.  “I kind of—got kicked out of my apartment.”

 

“Dude, what?” Peter says, grabbing another grilled cheese, “What did you do?”

 

“Drink up the blood, drink up the guts, pirates turned vampires turned bats and boos, Stormily wormily is marchin’ along.”

 

“I slept with my landlord, and it was awful, and I thought it would okay, even though it was a stupid fucking idea, but my lease was up, and she told me I couldn’t renew it.”

 

“Jesus, Johnny,” Peter sighs, “Dude, _stop_.”

 

“I know!” Johnny says, “I know.  I’m going celibate, that’s it.”

 

Even Wade laughs, breaking off his song to snort and giggle.  “Your lady picker’s broken,” he says, trying to sneakily feed Florence some cheese.

 

Peter notices, and flicks him.  “Stop, she’ll puke everywhere.  Wade?”

 

“Yo, you gotta watch the pussy,” Wade says.

 

Johnny looks utterly confused, so Peter clarifies, “While we’re on vacation, can you watch Florence?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Johnny says, “Wait, really?  You’re—you’re okay with this?”

  
“Bro, we good,” Wade says and holds out a fist.

 

Johnny bumps it slowly, his confusion turning into utter shock.  “Okay,” he says, nodding, “That’s—wow, thank you.  I promise, just until I can find a new place to live.”

 

Peter shrugs and turns to Wade, “You free?”

 

“Are we leavin’ right now, spidey?” he yells.

 

“Volume down,” Peter says, flicking him again, “It’s—Sunday, right?  We could leave tomorrow?”

 

“I’m stealing a car,” Wade warns him.

 

“You’re going to pick one up from a dealer, which we are renting for the trip.”

 

“That’s boring,” Wade mutters.

 

“Leave tomorrow, down to Florida by, say—Wednesday?  We’ll stay until Monday, and then come back up.”

 

“Idea brains,” Wade says, turning to him, “You should get on top of this spidey shit.”

 

“Agreed,” Johnny says, “Snapchat the _shit_ out of your trip, man.  Don’t let anyone start spewing rumors, just trample them.”

 

“Even better!” Wade says, nodding enthusiastically.

 

“Snap a couple pictures for Instagram.  Heck, I’d do one right now,” Johnny says, “Do one of Wade and Florence or something.  Give them shit to talk about, but make it on your terms.”

 

Peter looks between them, nervous.  “Okay,” he says slowly, “That makes sense.”

 

“I ain’t goin’ on your insta turds,” Wade says.

 

Peter counters with, “ _Deadpool_ doing a Simba with Flo.”

 

“Shake on it,” Wade says, and spits into his hand.

 

“You’re gross,” Peter says, and leans forward to kiss him.  Wade melts under his touch, shoulders relaxing, and Johnny’s just about to make a gross noise at them when Wade lifts his spit hand and wipes it on Peter’s cheek.  Peter yelps, Johnny disappears behind the island laughing, and Wade grins widely.

 

In the end, Disney falls through.  Peter wakes up the next morning, rolls over, and maps out Wade’s back with soft kisses meant to rouse, ends up on his back with Wade pressing warm and solid all around him, and says, “ _Or_.  Consider this.”  Wade hides his smile in Peter’s shoulder, and hums his agreement when Peter continues, “Sex and snuggles today, Disney for our anniversary in June.”

 

“I love when you alliterate at me.”

 

“I just love you,” Peter kisses the words into his mouth, and Wade presses them closer together.

**Author's Note:**

> BACK AT IT AGAIN.
> 
> Two fics in one month, this is crazy. It’s not happening again, sorry. Just want to get that out there right away. I’ve got a few other fics on the back burner that I want to work on before I start work on another part to this series.
> 
> Quick question! I was toying with the idea of writing the origin story for this series. I’m talking, _origin story_. Like, first time Peter and Wade meet. It would start there, work its way right up to about where the first fic starts. However, as we all know, having read the first one, that’s the first time they get together, and so this would be just the beginning of their friendship. It would also include those two Peter/Johnny scenes that are mentioned randomly throughout this series, as well as some other moments between them. Just putting it out there, wanted to see if anyone would be interested in that story, or if we’re better off where it is. Regardless, I will write a sixth story for this series, but depending on what you guys are interested in, it will either be the origin story or a continuation piece. Also, regardless, I’m going to write more continuations, so don’t worry on that end.
> 
> I also just wanted to take a quick moment to thank all of you who commented on the last one! I was so surprised to see some familiar handles, as well as some new ones, and it was just such a joy to read your reactions. Thank you so much, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts on this one!


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